Gold, God, and the Girl Behind the Camera

by Lindsey Howerton Klinger

WORD COUNT: 160,100

Chapter 1

Stare. It is the way to educate your eye, and more. Stare, pry, listen, eavesdrop. Die knowing something. You are not here long. --Walker Evans

Through a camera lens, Mira experienced the world as a quiet panorama of potential; Surmountable, comprehensible, and just beyond reach. In this way, she had rewarded herself for narrowing her vision. It calmed her to draw an image into focus on a ground glass screen, to see the fuzzy edges becoming sharper, the blurred colors separating into meaningful shapes. However, it must be said that she revered photographs as more than just careful orchestrations. As objects, they edified her. Their fixed images did not hurry her. Their questions needed not be answered. Their lives awaited her attention. Aside from all the meaning she supplied to the photograph, it was the practice of photography itself that soothed her most. It kept her removed, and it was her secret solace that most people assume the one photographing an event must only observe it, rather than participate. She liked the protection of the cameras lens, behind which she became somewhat invisible, relying that it was her job to capture the moment rather than be a part of it. This was not the truth in all situations, of course; an artist has the freedom to choose his or her subject

matter. She knew that as well as she knew how to shoot outdoors at dusk without a flash, or how to develop an over-exposed role of film to bring out of it what was still good and usable. And so it was that Mira had chosen the clear skies and rolling burnished gold of the California foothills- to which she was being delivered. She should have backed out of all this weeks ago when she picked up the welcoming packet that was neither; A single strip of yellowing fax paper at the bottom of a business envelope: Furnished room. Store for necessities. Transport when required. Limited phone service. Seeing only those words, she had turned the note over and for some reason scratched at the blank surface on the back with her thumbnail, looking around to see that no one at the human resources desk had noticed her do it. They had not, but amongst each other, staff in-the-know pitied her- going off to a place like that, to work for a man like that. During the journey she kept that narrow piece of paper folded in her back pocket as if it provided some sort of directions she might need to refer to. Some proff that she was supposed to be there. The tiny slip was a dramatic contrast to the manila envelopes overstuffed with inspiration the museum always seemed to be handing other people entering Artist-in-residence programs. Mira hoped Frank Bafflehauss brevity, the stark sound of the place, didnt indicate a lack of offerings in Vanishing River. One thing it did prove was that he was a serious man with no time for ballyhoo (a word he once used in an interview)which was the whole reason he needed her in the first place.

Bafflehaus was known to some in the art world as the Tyrant-maestro of Photography, and it was Mira who would be his assistant- as she was young and not really known as anything yet. She tried to feel proud of herself for taking this chance and not think too much about the word tyrant. Yet, it was nearly impossible to not think during the long flight from LaGuardia. Mira was already prone to the type of rumination that led her into ravines of worry. She resolved this time not to do any thinking at all until she arrived, at which point she would figure out everything else. That fax was all she knew about where she was bound, with the exception of an online article stating that Vanishing River was Once considered The Most Beautiful Town in the Mother Lode. The place had been a popular tourist destination until the Miwok Indians led a campaign to have gold panning outlawed in order to preserve the trout spawn. That was as far as she had read. It is California, and Frank Bafflehaus, and that will be enough. Yet, she couldnt help but worry about another word as she was jarred along one cracked band of asphalt after the next. Once considered. Once. It wasnt about the place anyway. She could handle a year anywhere as long as it helped her get her career started. Thats what she had been telling herself. In New York, she wasnt very good at pitching her work to galleries, so it was a great success when after two years of trying she had finally gotten one interested in displaying her work. Toward that endeavor, the cost of properly mounting, matting, and framing thirty-five of her photographs, as well as printing a promotional postcard for the opening, a new outfit, and

food and wine for the exhibition had left her in debt. At the time, she had explained excitedly to her father that the twenty-five hundred dollars he lent her would be money well-spent once her artwork sold. But two days before the event, with colleagues and friends having made plans to attend, the gallery backed out with no explanation. That was nearly a year ago, and her work still sat in boxes in her fathers basement.

Yep, Lloyd shouted above the clamor of the Jeeps engine, they aint done nothing but pave these roads, since the days they used em for horse and buggy. Lloyd was Frank Bafflehauss grounds keeper whom he sent to fetch Mira. Maybe they should, Mira complained as they glided and swayed around unremitting curves. Nah, Lloyd dismissed her. Most people round here can handle it. God, Daddy, do you think we care? asked Haley, Lloyds nine-year old daughter, riding in the backseat. Dont even know her. The girl had a mole on the left temple the same color as her brow, and together they comprised a reclining question mark. Haley Renee! he snapped, swatting his daughter on the knee with one hand and steering with the other. He hadnt wanted to bring her along but was left no choice when her bible camp was canceled for the day. Im hungry Haley whined, You promised we would buy a lunch. Lloyd rubbed his forehead, irritated. You going to eat those goobers? he asked

Mira, looking down at several bags of roasted peanuts she had saved from the plane. Goobers? She shook her head. Please let us just get there already! I dont even care where there is. As long as its not moving. Fortunately, she had plenty of information about her soon-to-be mentor, Francis Maxwell Bafflehaus. Now in his 80s, he had enjoyed a long career, gaining fame in the late 1960s and early 70s by taking stereographic portraits of celebrities engaged in something other than what they were famous for. One of his better known threedimensional photographs from that time was Mother Teresa riding an elephant at the San Diego Zoo. One can see the denim jeans she wore under her habit. Not all his subjects have been famous, nor were they always pictured threedimensionally. Franks work frequently featured his wife, or children, a boy Jeremy, and a girl Ruthy whose startling beauty made her, among certain circles, popular like a pin-up. These family portraits very often included the landscape in and around Vanishing River, which eventually led Frank in the second half of his career to record nature alone, highlighting its human qualities. Miras favorite from that time was of a river rock resembling a sunbather with a small patch of Red Mountain Heather for hair and a Blue Echo butterfly resting on her shoulder. Recently, in declining health, Frank had requested the help of an assistant to prepare his work for a grand exhibition followed by donation of the bulk of his collection to the Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art, in New York City where Mira had been working in

the archives since her college graduation. Frank himself had nothing to do with the decision to hire her, and trusted only that the museum would send competent help who could stay on for several months, or up to a year, to complete the work needed for him to make his bequest. The position Mira was hired for was being called Artist in Residence. But, it was understood that the only artist residing in Vanishing River would be Francis Bafflehaus.

Riding in that Jeep, Miras motion sickness came over her in excruciating waves. She leaned out the side again and heaved. Ip, yup, you got it? Lloyd stammered in a voice that belied his mercenary driving. She hung over the side until she was sure it was all out before resting uneasily onto the gravelly vinyl. Sweat had attracted silt to her forehead and cheeks. Briefly regaining color, she tied her hair into a stiff ponytail then braced at another series of corners as Lloyd hurled them from right to left then left to rightto left again. Each time, seeming to hang on by two wheels. If he rolls this I would only die. Miras journey had started the previous day when she left her parents house in upstate New York. Still wearing the same pair of jeans- faded on the thighs, and the same fitted black t-shirt as when she left. By late afternoon, they were within an hour of Vanishing River. Like a flipbook of the day, the first snapshots of the barnacled hills of San Francisco transformed into

panoramas of outlet malls, tract housing, and dusty oleanders dividing the freeway. Futuristic windmills over the Altamont were followed by truck stops, and rail yards stacked with pallets; Tracy, Lodi, Stockton, Modesto. Just off the shoulder, constantly anew were peeling billboards for bail bondsmen, affordable condominiums, and fast food. Neat orchards of walnuts, almonds, peaches, and apricots were fed by almost-beautiful irrigation canals- occasionally interrupted by fruit stands or dairies, fifties-style diners encumbered with oxidizing farming equipment, and mile after mile of nothing but grapes. They passed a cowboy church on Lone Tree Lane advertising a livestock auction to take place that Sunday. Farm houses poked up amid the vast blond fields that appeared from a distance like the smooth, tanned hips of a woman- only to be scarred a few miles later by creeks and the broad branches of Valley Oaks arching to the ground; a focus for cattle seeking shade. Road kill broiled on the blacktop amid a shimmering oasis of mirage, its sickly sweet stink intermingling with the smell of manure and dry grass. The terrain undulated into foothills then disappeared beneath chaparral and volcanic outcroppings. Rock walls were soon outnumbered by rusty barbwire fences that framed the composition to either side of the crumbling roadway which unrolled in front of her like an ancient ribbon. Bright flocculated clouds cast diffuse shadows over the hills, creating spotlights on patches of wildflowers growing in the dirt. Mira wondered how the hell Bafflehaus could prefer black and white photographs to color in a landscape this brilliant. He was famous for calling black and white photography the perfect medium, except that, he claimed it had

been given the wrong name. He referred to them as gray because, as he explained in the introduction hed written to a coffee table collection of his work titled Naked, Restless, and Proud, In the right kind of photograph, as in life, there is no black or white. Just varying densities of gray. Mira recalled the quote well because she thought her own photographs contained plenty of solid black and pure white; And shed studied Bafflehauss work closely and didnt know what she was seeing if it wasnt black and white, and maybe some gray; Certainly not all, or only gray. His comment made no sense and she looked forward to challenging him on it once theyd gotten to know each other. The Jeep was rolling at a good pace with Lloyd claiming they could make it before sundown. He still had work to do around the Bafflehaus ranch. Yep, the way these roads go up and then even off, then go up again and even off, was a way for them forty-niners stage coaches to let their horses rest fore going up again. Just the talk of up and down nauseated Mira all over again. Yah-uh, we know, Haley whined, but as she heard herself, her startled eyes darted to her fathers in the rearview. He didnt swat her that time. She looked down at her thighs flattened against the seat then tried to pull her shorts out of her crotch. Yep, otherwise horses might lose the wagon. Itd go running down the hill, back the direction it came. These steep down-hills though... Used to be a saying- you bought a horse for what it could hold back going downhill, not what it could pull coming up. Matter a fact, said that to my wife when I asked her to marry me.

Miles back, when Mira had begun feeling sick, Haley was given the job of holding Miras large portfolio of work. However, Haley hadnt held it with her hands for quite a while. Instead she had it pinned between the seat back and her knees, which worked well. So well, she had forgotten about it until they negotiated a looping drop and the big black rectangle soundlessly dislodged. For Mira, the incident occurred in stop-motion as the wide leather wings opened and took flight above their heads, sending black and white images swirling into the sky, into the branches of Manzanita and scrub brush, skittering across the surface of the twolane roadway, onto and then off of the windshields of passing vehicles; one landing next to an abandoned birds nest on the branch of a black oak, another floating down to the ground, and one or two in the cracks between granite boulders. Several were rolled over by cars and bent, others scratched and imprinted with tire tread and gravel. They fluttered against the softening turquoise sky, kicked up over and over on the wind generated by sporadic traffic. For a few seconds the entire flock of images glittered in the atmosphere above their heads. Before the portfolio even landed, Lloyd had pulled the Jeep to the sloping shoulder of the road. Mira got out to chase her artwork as it scurried away in playful spirals. Haley said it reminded her of an Easter egg hunt, but in this case she was barely able to hunt, for her sulking. She trudged through knee-high grass, collecting pictures as she came upon them, secretly hoping she might be bitten by a snake or twist her ankle or

break her leg by stepping into a hole, figuring such an injury would be the only way to generate sympathy for her self. Mira hugged to her chest the majority of the collection recovered from the roadway and stumbled along, searching among rocks in a gully. Lloyd seemed to be focusing his attention on two or three smaller prints in the low branches of a tree next to the road. While up there, an enormous Barn owl startled him when it flew by the highest branches. Because of its creamy color, in his peripheral he mistook it for a print caught on the wind. When it flew toward him he said he had looked straight at its eyes and couldnt mistake its being an owl. Damndest thing. Aint never seen one like that out in daylight before, he remarked, once they were back in the Jeep. Black eyes size ahalf-dollars, and quiet as could be. Even with her stomach still churning from the drive, Mira noticed how striking some of her portraits looked framed against nature; spice brush, a fallen log. She found the one of her mother nestled in a field of orange poppies, and it made her want to take a picture of a picture. She stared at it for a moment, inspired almost to weep before remembering to pick it up. Among the missing were pictures of people she knew well. Yet, she had focused on finding one in particular. I should have packed him in the bottom of my suitcase like I wanted to. He would be safe now, if I had. But she hadnt because she wanted to treat him like all the others in her portfolio. They hadnt found the picture, and the fact that it was the

smallest in the collection wasnt helping matters. It would have looked beautiful printed a huge 15 x 17, instead of the tiny 3 x 5 she had settled on. Though, it would have felt ostentatious to her to make it as large as she really wanted life-sized. In fact, she felt embarrassed printing it for her self at all. It was a picture of her friend Art, taken as an assignment for a class on the Zone System. They had been walking together in Washington Square Park during a break between classes. She had used a mediumformat Leicia and a roll of professional 120 millimeter, black and white. There hadnt been much light, so she exposed the film at f- 4.5 for about a second to get in as much detail as possible. Art had borrowed his friends fishermans cap that morning and wearing it he must have felt like someone else, because his expression was cocky. Beard stubble coupled with curls from under the hats brim, made the image intimate; So intimate that she had spent many restless nights over-studying it, and now she couldnt picture his face as a whole, but only a frustrating puzzle of minute details. It was Art who had gotten her this job in the first place, but he hadnt been shy with his skepticism about her ability to keep it. He revealed that she had not been the panels first choice; said it was his good word that had gotten them to reconsider. Initially the woman doing the interviews explained that they had chosen another candidate based on experience. But the truth was, the man they offered the position had no experience in any field of art, whereas Mira had already logged hundreds of hours archiving at the Met since graduation. When the other guy didnt accept, they offered it to her as if they were doing

her a favor. Art tried to warn her. Youll be in the middle of no-where from how I understand it. And supposedly Bafflehaus has so much stuff no ones ever seen- It could take years to organize, especially if you help him do some of the printing. Theres supposed to be about ten years worth of work hes never shared. Everyones pretty interested to find out what he was doing all that time. And its no money. They sat in front of their coffees at a Dean and Delucas across from the museum. A year away from you? She grimaced involuntarily. You dont think I can handle it, do you? Im not saying you cant. Of course you can. I just hope you will. You might not want to though. Thats what Im concerned about. You could get there and immediately want to quit. Her voice faltered but her gaze held steady. If you think Im flaky, then why did you recommend me? Did I say you were flaky? His intimation had left its usual bruise. Just now you did. No, you said that. He was stirring with the little wooden stick. Im just guessing somethingll go wrong and you wont want to stay, thats all Im saying. You know its not like an outlandish thought, right? But, Im recommending you because youre my friend and I think youd really be good at bringing this guy out of his shell, which is

probably what its going to take to get the job done. Plus, it would be so awesome for you to be able to work with someone of his caliber. You know? To be able to say youve studied under him could catapult your own work. Legitimize it, finally. Hes a dying breed, Mira, a dying breed. Now days, everyones digital which you should consider doing more of yourself. Anyway, regardless, he would look great on your resume. Her cheeks and the tips of her ears looked singed. She stared out the window at a perfectly framed composition of the street: a yellow taxi counterbalanced by a throng of people leaving the subway terminal, including a tall man in a tomato red jacket. Instead of hearing Arts voice she wanted so badly to be behind her camera, not the digital, her real camera, listening to its gears whir. Art wouldnt shut up. Im sorry. I didnt mean to make you think I dont trust you about this. Youre awesome. You already know that. Right? Your work is unbelievable, especially when it comes to the technical aspects. Bafflehaus will be blown away. I just want, if youre going to do it, for you to not make me look bad for recommending you. I mean, I know you wont, but well okay. I just you wont. Miras mouth began to cramp into an unsightly expression. I think you just said I wouldbut I dont know where youre getting that. I dont quit things, Art. I work hard. You obviously have no idea how hard. But just forget it if you want, dont even mention me. Forget it if thats what you think. He rubbed his forehead. Do you see? Im sorry, but that is exactly what I mean.

Youre already giving up. Boy, that was easy. I mean, you hate to be challenged! You cant handle being uncomfortable for one second. Thats not true, she interrupted his tirade. My mom He interrupted her back. Life to you is all about keeping things easy, isnt it? If it doesnt come easily, youve no patience. Do you know how fucking irritating that is? Im sorry, but it is. He consciously had to lower his voice to continue. Youre just like most people in this country. If it isnt easy then why do it at all? Right? If its easy then you must be putting out too much effort. With his cup still full on the table, he stood up to leave. Mira was fused to her chair. Screw you, she muttered, staring intently into her coffee, concentrating on the way the heat played under the surface, morphing its color slightly. You think spending a few weeks with your uncle on a mission in Mexico when you were ten, gives you the authority to judge all of us regular lazy people. Give me a fucking break. He rolled his eyes before turning his back on her. When she looked up, her gaze happened to fall directly on that gorgeous pompousass as it swaggered to the door. She said evenly, Im taking the job.

Do we got em all? Lloyd called out as he came down the hill with a handful of prints.

Haley was in the car counting the stack. Forty-one! she yelled back. Miras eyes were compulsively searching the terrain. Still missing four. I got another three here, Lloyd waved them at Mira. She shuffled through the deck. The one of Art wasnt among them. Thats forty-four, said Haley. Yep! Lloyd was cheerful. Maybe we could just get going then? Can I make one more, quick sweep? Mira begged in a curtsey-like manner. She could feel her chest tightening. She wanted to see Arts face so badly, never mind that she should have had it memorized by now. Pathetic. She was too embarrassed to explain why it felt so paramount to locate this one photo, so instead she just ran off scanning the weeds and brush, squinting to pick out that speck of white that had to be there. Please be here, please be here, please be here. A candy wrapper turned inside-out fooled her, a clean piece of quartz half-buried in the dirt; fooled again. She thought at one point she had found it, but it turned out to be a littered business card with silver foil lettering on one side, Grinding Rock Real Estate, Marni S. Bird, agent. She re-littered it, and went back to the Jeep without Art. Are you sure there isnt a little teeny one stuck in there? Nope, Haley answered, I mean yep. Im sure. Her tear-stains bore some resemblance to Miras sweat silt. I guess we can go then, Mira relented, hoisting herself into the Jeep to ride out the

last bilious miles to town.

Finally the road angled downward into shade, going twenty-five as they passed the sign for Vanishing River, elevation 2485 feet, with no number listed for the towns population. They passed wooden buildings Miras mother would have called historical and her father would call falling apart. The paint on many of them was peeling so badly it made the ones with a fresh coat appear sturdy by comparison. They passed an inn with ivy up the walls. A gift shop across the street just closing its doors, as well as a real estate office, a hairdresser, a clothing store, and a butcher shop. The road they came in on seemed to be the only one, and as it narrowed after a few blocks, she realized they had reached the end of the business district, if that is what one could call it. Where the street made a T was a pizza parlor called something with a P that she couldnt read fast enough because she was distracted by a deli with outdoor seating among potted flowers growing in a rusted claw-foot tub. Next to it blossoms poured from a water pitcher into a wash basin. Yep. Youll get to know all these spots, Lloyd said, smiling. They took a right past a collapsing shelter that was once a school bus stop. There was a cemetery on the rise to the left as they pulled up to a mailbox that seemed far away from any building. There had been virtually no conversation since the scattering of Miras work over the countryside- when Haley piped up. When I was a baby I asked Mom if she could put me in there. Huh, Daddy? I fit, didnt I?

He mocked her playfully. We already know, Hay-ley. She stuck out her tongue and smiled back at him. Mira asked Whyd you want to be in there? I dont know. I just did. Haley climbed from the back seat to the ground. Mira asked Lloyd How many people live here? Oh, well, just Mr. Bafflehaus, of course. Me and my wife, Kitty, yep. And Haley here, and my son Clement who I guess youll meet. Oh, and and Franks daughter, too. Ruthy. No, I mean in Vanishing River. About how many? Oh, yeah, well probably about a couple thousand or so if you count a few Indians and other people, livin in the hills, who come in for stuff, you know; supplies, essentials and such. He reached an inked forearm over the side of the Jeep and wrapped it around his daughters waist to lift her in. Her arms were full of envelopes and junk mail. You know bout them Indians? he asked Mira. Called the Mi-wuk. He pronounced it slowly. Day-ad! We know! Haley whined from the back seat. Hey now! Mira dont know! Said she aint heard of em. Why do you always say aint? Haley muttered. My teacher says thats not a word. She wanted it said, but only wanted Mira to hear her. Replacing the burning wind Mira had felt all day on her cheeks was the cool of still air as they coasted through it. She languished in knowing they hadnt far to go and drew in

the raw smell of lichen and moist soil. Yet, there was a dryness to this place; a warm sunbaked scent that was entirely new to her. They pulled into a gravel parking area, disturbing several chickens pecking in the grass nearby. In front of them was a cube-shaped house painted yellow, with a small white porch facing a barn. The place reminded her of a piece of lemon cake with butter cream frosting. Lloyd pointed her to it as he parked the jeep abruptly. Thats your place over there. Can go ahead. S open. He was hurrying toward the main house. Through gaps between the broad downward sweeping branches of a stately Valley oak, across a patch of manicured lawn, behind a screen of jasmine, Mira could see a sprawling ranch style house of wood, stained reddish-brown with a low shale roof. In front was a well made of boulders, with a roof matching that of the house. That must be His house, she thought proudly. A cluster of people stood on the flagstone walkway in front of the porch, and Haley ran to hug the waist of a woman in the crowd. Mira crunched across the gravel, lugging her duffle and her wounded portfolio to let herself in through a screen door followed by a wooden door that had once been white. Inside it smelled of mildew, musty and sour in a way she immediately found appealing and oddly delicious; the comforting odor of history and stability. It was just one room, but with a banister and some beams separating different areas it felt like more than that. To her right a kitchen stretched along the wall, separated from the rest of the room by a counter where one could sit and eat, but there was also an oval dining table behind that. A small

refrigerator hummed loudly, its freezer compartment jammed open by an emerging frost glacier. The rest of the fridge was empty except for a box of baking soda, which judging by the packaging was at least thirty years old; it felt as hard as a brick. Because of the way the freezer droned, Mira unplugged after she sat her things down. The floors were wide planks that met with shear once-white curtains. An abundance of chairs lined the room; About twenty in all, and far more than any one resident could use in such a small place. They were of the type one might see in an antique shop where the proprietor doesnt know the value of his merchandise. She figured Frank must be using this house for storage, or to host some type of a class. On the wall opposite the front door hung a poster-sized, double stereographic print of a frequent subject of Franks who Mira recognized immediately as his daughter Ruthy Bafflehaus. In the pair of prints the budding girl was seated at a desk piled with books, engrossed in a copy of Angle of Repose. Miras eyes widened before the pair of Bafflehaus originals, humbly displayed. They were mounted, but not even framed. We have a lot of work to do, she thought chirpingly. Using one sore foot, she shoved her duffle bag into the corner. The room was so stifling that it wasnt long before she could hear the soft snapping of melting ice, followed by a percussion of drips. She found a large metal basin under the sink and placed it below the ablating icicle. A nice foot bath began to form immediately and she figured there was no need to waste good cold water even if it was a little dirty. Since I am any way. She took a

bottle of Gatorade and a crumpled baggie of wheat thins out of her carry-on and dragged the nearest chair over to the basin. Her feet were red and swollen, showing in their skin the bunched pattern of her socks. As she eased her toes into the glorious coolness her whole body shivered. She was used to soaking her feet, since her left one often bothered her, having lost the last two toes on it as a toddler- leaving the other three scarred and twisted. Shed been playing on the grass with her sister after her mother had forbidden it, because their father was mowing. The recounting of the incident had always been kept brief. Her dad had not seen her slip in front of him as he spun the push mower around to go back in the opposite direction. It had been a hot summer day like this one, plus the humidity of New York. The foot had bled profusely and her sister had screamed bloody murder when she saw it. Tiny Mira herself went into shock as doctors amputated what remained of the two most damaged digits. Now, after such a long journey she sat there in a new place, soaking her feet as she had many times back home. Inert, she stared at the wall for so long she was able to watch the window pattern progress from yellow to orange as it crawled across the chair backs at an angle before dropping to the floor and disappearing completely. After a while she turned back toward the room initiating a longing for the daybed in the corner to the left of the door, partially obscured by a free-standing screen that had been hand-painted with birds and branches. The bed was covered by a quilt faded to pastel over the years, and a headboard most likely made out of chair backs. I must investigate. As her

first decorative decision, she removed a crucifix nailed over the headboard and stowed it under the bed. Then she dropped face forward into the pillow. Water from her toes dripped to the floor below. Upon close inspection she discovered that the bed frame was in fact made entirely of chairs nailed together and she approved, as she did of the firm mattress that lay on top. The room was close, but quiet and stationary- both welcome changes for the day. There was a short-wave radio next to the bed, a window on the opposite wall that opened onto a meadow quickly absorbing into darkness. Putting her face against the pillow sham disturbed a fine layer of dust, and she wondered how long it had been since the sheets were changed. I hope Ill meet some cool people tomorrow. Out of a couple thousand, if there really are that many, there must be at least someone interesting. I should be ready. I should probably wash my face. Do I need to pee? She figured all of it could wait and this was her final thought before sleep. Later that night there may have been a knock at the door, or maybe not. She awoke at what seemed like three in the morning but was really only midnight. Her bladder bursting, she tried feeling around for lights. After doing several laps and stubbing her toe on what could only be a chair, she came to the startling realization that there was no bathroom. With her eyes barely open, she shuffled outside, looked around and saw no one. She could smell the jeans and t-shirt shed been wearing for thirtysix hours straight; Remembering that in a bizarre dream she had just came out of, the

clothes had crawled together from a shallow grave. Voices emanated from people still hovering near the main house since earlier in the day, which was of no concern to Mira after living in New York City for five years where she was used to people being around at all hours of the night. Made invisible by the dark she found a good spot next to the barn, pulled her jeans and underwear down around her ankles, and crouched to get a good stream going. Closer to the earth she could smell the night and breathed it in with pleasure. Good to be here. Good to be whole. Suddenly a shocking automatic security lamp blasted her with stadium light. Most of the pee startled out, her ass glowed for those gathered. The murmurs at the main house were suddenly stifled as she ran out of the sunbeam and closed the door of her one-room cottage behind her, cutting off the sound of various chuckles and he-haws. A few hours later in the gray-blue morning, Mira was awakened by the reveille of a rooster. A little clich maybe, she figured, but a nice fit with the romantic view of her new life now taking shape. She scanned the floor for her jeans that werent there. Laying in bed she mused about how strange it was to wake up in a new state, in a new town, in a new house, in a new bed, and still not know where the hell the bathroom was.

Chapter 2
Sometimes I do get to places just when Gods ready to have somebody click the shutter. Ansel Adams

To feel competent for her first meeting with the venerable Heir Bafflehaus, food became a priority. Mira splashed her face in the kitchen sink, braided her hair in two, and put on a pair of khaki shorts, a white linen tank top, and a pair of running shoes. She squeezed her digital point-and-shoot and her cell phone into her shorts pockets, along with a few dollars. The deli with the flowers in front would be perfect for coffee and a bagel with smear, although a full breakfast would be even better. She felt weak, her body in a caloric deficit. The sun hadnt been up for long, but already the air was too warm. She walked in the stippled shade of Digger Pines along the roadside. Indian paintbrush and purple Fireweed bloomed in red clay dirt so heavy with iron it reminded one of pure rust, and it seemed to leave orange stains on everything it touched, including the blacktop. She snapped a few pictures of the deserted road as she walked. Art popped up in her brain like usual. She wanted him to see her now, to witness how terrifically well she was doing, thriving in her new environment. She wanted him to see how resolute she had become with her

journey. And, she wanted him to check out this cool dirt. I should take some of it back for him in a jar. When she knelt on a tuft of grass to line up a shot of a blue belly on a rock, she unwittingly disturbed a garter snake also absorbing the morning rays before the red-tail hawks began their breakfast tour. It slithered against her knee in the process of making a Uturn. Not as alone as she thought, her scream caused several ground squirrels to retreat. Naturally assuming the snake had been a rattle snake, she danced around in the roadway rubbing her knee until it was almost numb. She saw herself telling Art about what happened. It was a rattlesnake! I havent been here five-minutes and already Ive had to avert death. He would be astounded, impressed, if only she were meeting him for breakfast that would be so nice. Her cell phone appeared to have just enough juice for one call which she had the urge to use on Art, but instead dialed her father. The screen swirled: No Service. Strolling past the saloon, thats all it said, SALOON- over a garage door ripe with splinters, she envisioned herself telling Art nonchalantly over the top of a menu Out west they call them saloons. Inside, a big middle-aged man swept sunflower seed hulls from under tables. She smiled at him, but he didnt bother smiling back, just stopped sweeping to watch her walk by. The deli with all the flowers was dark inside with cobwebs in the windows. She continued on to the hotel that appeared to have once been stately, yet by the looks of it

never had a restaurant. Behind the desk stood a tall, boyish man with eyes that reminded Mira of Arts. Yes, hello. Good morning. How are you? Could you suggest somewhere for me to get a bite to eat? He nodded politely to all of her greetings. Well, Anitas is pretty good. Anitas? Yeah, Anitas Kitchen. Pretty much right around the corner from us Bunch of the Mexicans from the hills are usually there for breakfastbut the foods pretty good. Okaaay, she said out loud. Bunch of Mexicans? Hey, are you the photographers new girl? Uh huh. Mira Dillen. She extended her hand somewhat reluctantly. Bodey, he told her, and squeezed her fingers firmly. Got it, she said, pointing to his nametag with a straight face. How did you know who I was? He was organizing paperclips behind the counter. Heard about Frank hiring someone from New York to help him out. Havent seen you in town most people visiting are guests here at the hotel. Oh, that makes sense I was going to say I dont really have an accent, or whatever. This is a beautiful old place. Yes, he sounded dutiful. Its one of the oldest original landmarks in Calaveras County.

She turned her head to admire threadbare upholstery and blanched wallpaper beginning to peel up from the base boards. He was leaning on the counter with both hands. It kind of made this town famous, but maybe youve already heard the story. Over the fireplace was a blue-green ceramic vase with fresh flowers. In front of a hallway, a sagging staircase was preceded by a runner of blood colored carpet. A smoky mirror with an ornate gold-leafed frame hung behind the front desk, and in it Mira could see how haggard she looked. Her spritz of cold water in the kitchen had not been enough. Not even close. Look at me! she cried to her reflection. Dirt was streaked over her freckled cheeks causing the effect of a five-oclock shadow. Do I look like Willie Nelson to you? Im only missing the bandana, she snapped a picture of her reflection. My brother has to see this...Theres no mirror where Im staying, obviously. There isnt even a bathroom! Can you fricken believe that? Thank God Im not meeting Art. At first the young man said nothing to refute her observation. The brown-haired strangerYoure welcome to use ours. Just right back there. He pointed down the hallway. Nice hot water too! Bodey then insisted on taking his break so he could join her for breakfast. He lit a cigarette as they walked to the diner. You smoke? he asked.

She shook her head. I thought they said nobody in California smokes anymore. Like, nobody. Im from New York, where pretty much everybody still smokes. Ok, well not everybody. But still. He shrugged. Everybody cept you? I guess. This kid must be barely 16. You look much better now, by the way. At first I was kinda like scared. Thats great. I scared you. Well, you saw yourself! It was a little dirt. I had quite a time getting here yesterday. I still havent been able to shower. Sorry, but its just true. Whew, he said, fanning wrinkled-nostrils. Oh sure. Im the one who stinks He thrust half a burning stub in her direction. So, I guess you dont want the rest of this? Cant smoke in Anitas so... No thanks, but I would hope you could offer me a new one if I did. High-maintenance city girl, huh? he held the door for her. You might want to think about that, cause from what Ive heard that dont work for Frank. Im not. The smell of pancakes and bacon engulfed her upon entry. She breathed deeply. At the counter, facing the coffee dispenser, the waitress handed them sticky laminated menus and righted their coffee mugs. How is it working in a hotel?

Ok. I dont get paid shit, but my mom says I have to do something. Youre out of school? Graduated. He didnt seem proud. You? Mira nodded. Years ago. But, I wont tell you how many. Were talkin high school here right? You went to college? Of course you did. Probably went to one of the Big Five, or whatever they call em. Whatever, the big names are I dont know. Whats the story about the hotel? You said there was an interesting story. This town was the only town in the Mother Lode where supposedly no golds ever been found, cept for one nugget we got at the hotel. Ill show you when we get back. But actually theres probably a huge vein under the old church, which is even older than the hotel. But, that place is supposedly haunted by this old guy. No ones ever dug under it to look. Whoever owns that land could be rich if they werent scared to dig up that church. The waitress took their order. Ill have the short stack with a side of sausage, and the home-fries Aaaaand, hmm, the cup of fruit. Is that mostly just melon, or are there berries and stuff in there? Theres grapes and strawberries, the waitress told her. Mira nodded to that. Bodey puffed out his cheeks at her food order. What can I get for you, Bodey? Toast please, Kitty. Thats it. And a coke. Please. He swiveled back to their

conversation. That church technically belongs to your boss right now. I dont guess hes scared of digging it up, but he probably doesnt need the money. The small diner was rapidly filling with men in coveralls. Engine oil and deodorant soap permeated the room and mixed with the aroma of frying potatoes in bacon grease. Most of these men had thermoses next to them on the table, and wore sweaty-brimmed John Deere caps, cowboy hats, straw hats; All except for one. Miras gaze landed on him, a young Hispanic with a light gray cowboy hat carefully placed on a hook by the door. Another reason he stood out was that his face was clean-shaven in an army of stubble, goatees, and tweaked mustaches. It made him look younger than most of the men there, though still older than she was. He looked up at her before she was able to spin back toward Bodey. Mira realized she must have stood out too, because besides the waitress, she was the only woman in the room. She started Bodey up again, So, this gold? The kid jumped, Shhhh! Jeez, we dont talk about it out loud like that! Mira recoiled. Are you kidding me? She compulsively craned her neck for a glimpse of the young man without the hat. He wasnt watching her. I dont know. Everyones afraid somebody might try and go and steal it. I dont want people thinking I would, thank you very much. Sorry, sorry, she covered her mouth, then twisted again to get another look at the handsome diner, who this time caught her. Very uncool. She turned back abruptly, and

closed her eyes tight. Whats wrong? Bodey turned around trying to figure out what she was looking at. My neck hurts. I think I slept wrong. What about the g-o-l-d? Later Ill say maybe. Jeez. Sorry, how should I know? Any-waay, the town was founded by this guy; Norwegian dude, Jorge Svenson; Most Beautiful Town in the Mother Lode, yeah right. I guess this was around the time when all these little mining camps were springing up, you know? Gold, Mira mouthed silently. Yes, he mouthed back rolling his eyes. The dude picked this spot out for its beauty, right? You think its beautiful? Mira cocked her head and shrugged. He and some guys mined I guess, but kept coming up empty even though prospectors said thered be a lot here. Theres a well-known vein that goes all through all these hills. He gestured broadly. But whatever, even without that, he put up a trading post and shit. Thats gone too, burned down. Some dude passed out in some gunpowder or something, smoking a cigar, totally blew shit up thats another story. Anyway, this one guy, not Svenson, came in, did a little digging then decided he was gonna build a church. There werent any in the area at the time, I guess. This was one of the first ones.

Women from everywhere started pouring in to the camp, because there was a good trading-post, and a nice slow river for laundry and whatever. Thats the vanishing river part, youll see it at some point Im sure, plus the place was super, like scenic and shady. He pointed to a placard hanging over the entrance to the bathrooms: the words Most Beautiful Town in the Mother Lode arched over an engraving of an oak tree. But I guess, he went on the women came here because there werent a lot of men here then. No gold. I guess they didnt want to be in a town full of men, or whatever Which was actually pretty hot or whatever now that Im thinking about it. He smiled. Mira was anxious to turn around again and look at the guy without the hat, not to see if he was good looking, she had already confirmed that, but mainly to see if he was looking at her. Through sheer determination however, she managed to remain facing Bodey instead. Bodeys story was still going. Svenson realized he could build a nice hotel and a bar and so on, and draw the men to town for the evenings spend their digging money from elsewhere on this towns biggest treasure its women. Thats what they say anyway, you know? That hotel is so old because its made out of Rhyolite, thats like a super hard lava-granite. The other buildings around here were made out of wood and tin and shit, the miners would just burn them down or tear em down to dig underneath. It was hard for Mira to stay focused, also because she was antsy for her food. Except the church, she interjected.

Right. Nobody wanted to mess with it, I guess. Still they dont. You know a lot, Bodey. You should give walking tours or something. She couldnt stop herself from attempting another glance behind her. But, she did it too quickly, and everything was a blur. It was a wasted effort, especially because she caused a stinger in her neck. She grimaced. Vanishing River, woman haven. Got it. Continue. Lots of shit happened here back then. Used to be a lot of banks too, where they weighed the gold and all. Had vaults full of it for a long time. Every place here was a bank. Theyre like all the shops and stuff now. This place was probably one too. Most of em were robbed so many times they dont even know how many times. Shoot-outs in the streets and crazy wild-west shit like that. All the famous bank robbers stayed in our hotel at one point or another. Some signed our books under aliass. Those are in museums now anyway. Those dudes pulled off so many robberies. Lost count? Mira suggested. Totally lost count. People still dont like banks around here, so we dont even have one. Next town got a couple, but not here, man. Old guy in the church probably put a hex on em or something. Whats kinda funny about that though is that the merchants round here were the ones who got rich, like Svenson. The miners themselves never did. It was the guys selling shit to the miners. Bodey tapped his temple with one finger. Those dudes were the ones who had the brains. When their food finally arrived Mira wondered how bad it would look if she didnt

use a knife, and even debated the necessity of syrup when it took the waitress over a second to bring it to them. Remembering the hatless gent sitting somewhere behind her she decided to use the knife, and also to put her napkin in her lap. I like a girl who can eat, Bodey said, impressed. So anyway, the Churchguy, dont remember his name, wasnt too happy about the party atmosphere this hotel and stuff was bringing, so he was constantly trying to keep all the riff-raff in line. The church-dude tried to get more people in on Sunday, hung-over probably, but still. He told them that he believed faith was worth more than gold which was why he built it over the vein he found. He even painted over the outside of the churchs door, from First Peter, verse seven, Proof of your faith being more precious than gold. It looks kind of like graffiti now, but its not. Anyway, I guess that just made people even more mad at him that he wouldnt let them dig there, and so they tried to go after him to get at the gold. Tried to kill him tons of times. After that he just stayed in that church all the time with some huge dogs and a double-barrel shotgun. There were a couple of beet-red tourists standing in the lobby of the hotel. Bodey stood on the sidewalk with Mira and lit another cigarette as his manager aimed him a scornful look. He sat down on the curb, which was one of the highest curbs Mira had ever seen. His feet almost didnt touch the ground. Technically I still have a couple minutes on my break, Bodey explained. So bro can just wait, cause I aint given em up. Mira stood in front of him. Dont loose youre job. I have to go anyway.

He drew on the cigarette, No, just talk to me for a couple more minutes. I gotta prove a point here. You should see this guy take his breaks. Hes the manager, okay yes, I know that. But he goes off and golfs for hours while I do everything. Yesterday he was out all day pretending he could beat Tiger Woods or something. I really need to go anyway. Im meeting Mr. Bafflehaus this morning. She could feel her breakfast when she said it. Bodey inhaled deeply and held up an index finger. What are you smoking anyway? Mira looked up and down the street where shopkeepers were opening doors and propping up sandwich boards. She wanted to go before anyone noticed her. Tell me real quick what happened to the old church guyOh and the gold nugget- then Ive got to go. Good, yeah. Theyre both good. Bodey blew smoke from his nostrils and leaned back on two elbows. The old guy in the church, see, hed chased the Indians off the land before he built that place, actually killed a lot of em to be honest, so they hated him too, you know? The miners already hated him. So, he was like afraid to go outside. I would be. There was just this one little girl, supposedly, I guess who would sometimes bring him food and water and stuff because she felt sorry for him, or her mom did maybe. They were the only ones who took pity on him. But anyway, he was protecting his righteous gold, right? Finally he did die in there and it took a month or so before the girl noticed he wasnt picking up her shit on the church steps. There was nothing left of him when they went in

though, He had dogs and whatnot. You know? Mira grimaced. Ah, Bodey scoffed, That kind of shit happened around here all the time. Now I guess, supposedly he and his dogs haunt the church and theres like a curse if you try to knock it down or dig under it. Thats the little white church on your Franks land. Youll see it. Still there. He smothered his cigarette out on the sidewalk. Come inside, you gotta check out this nugget. In the corner of the hotel lobby, next to a short Greek column holding a bell jar terrarium was a smallish gold nugget resting on faded purple velvet inside a glass case. Mira was expecting something a lot bigger. There was an engraved plaque on the frame of the case. Discovered by R. Jacob Renfrew. July 24, 1845- Recovered August 5, of the same year. She looked at Bodey. So it was found and then stolen? Then found again? Sort a. This guy panned it out here in Svensons Creek. That old church guy had him arrested til he gave it over- Cause remember he thought the search for gold was an abomination. Locked the guy up- so the guy ate the nugget. He ate it? Swallowed it. Then the church dude waited it out, or had the authorities wait it for him. You mean until he passed it? And it took like over a week to pass it Mira said doing the math.

Well, he passed it several times if you know I mean. Finally they had to let him go for the real criminals. Jail was too full to keep him there like that. Mira leaned in and squinted at it. Wow. Thats a real nugget then, all right. You can hold it if you want, Bodey offered. I got access to the key. Some other time. He saluted her. See yaMira, right? Mira? Come back tomorrow. Ill be on break at the same time.

During her walk home, with each step, Mira felt more and more anxious about meeting Francis Bafflehaus. Shed heard stories about how he made one of his assistants, who later went on to fame himself, use an entire series of finished prints to line Bafflehauss rabbit hutch- because he was so displeased with the quality of work. The assistant recalled in an interview how Bafflehaus admonished him: At least this way the paper wont go to waste. At the porch in front of her she met Haley and another child. They were sitting together in the broken wicker love seat next to the door, and stood up at the same time like two puppets on a stick, when Mira got there. Haley said, Hi. We were supposed to wait for you. Oh yeah? And who is this? she said and stuck her hand in the direction of the little boy next to Haley. He said nothing in response. Small even by childrens standards

with sandy blonde hair, and glasses, he reminded Mira of a child-version of John Denver. Where were you? Haley demanded, as if she had to be informed whenever Mira went out. I was in town. I needed to eat. Mira sounded defensive. Did you go to Anitas? the girl asked smiling shyly. Mira had to think for a second. She pointed in the air. That was the place. Thats where our mom works sometimes. Her names Kitty. She was my waitress! Haley, do you by any chance know where theres a bathroom I can use? My mom is a server, she corrected and then pointed to a small concrete building a few yards from them. Over there. Oh, thank you! Mira said and hurried off. It looked much nicer inside, with a couple of decent toilet stalls, a stone floor and matching countertop with two sinks cut into it, over which hung a long antique mirror. Outside and behind the building was another enclosure that turned out to be an open-air shower. The floor was textured cement with a drain in the middle, and the walls were covered in fragrant cedar planks tied together like a raft. In one corner was a bathtub large enough for at least two people. Back at the porch Haley and her brother had started a game of Go Fish. So you guys were supposed to wait for me?

Haley nodded. Do you believe in the Lord? she asked. Mira didnt answer. The little boy was clenching his mouth hard and widening his eyes in his sisters direction. I can say what ever I want, Clem-ent, Haley shot back at him. Just cause you dont. The kids followed Mira into her house. Did you guys come and get me to meet Mr. Bafflehaus? Mira was cheerful, but her comment was met with silence. She started trying to open the windows. The kids stood in the middle of the room with their long arms hanging at their sides. Mira asked again, wondering if her boss wanted to meet her then, or to have her in for lunch a little later. Maybe an early dinner, she hoped, which would give her more time to relax, take a nap, maybe try out the shower; Plus, she figured she should probably go through her portfolio again to weed out anything she wasnt totally confident in or that got completely ruined yesterday. She knew she would have to explain why some of the work was scratched, but she decided she wouldnt mention Haleys part in it at all, and just take full responsibility for the condition herself. That would be more professional, she figured. And he had probably already heard the story, so that would demonstrate her level of integrity. No, maybe if he has heard it then that would make me look like a liar, but if he hasnt then he would just be horrified by the state of the work. Oh Ill just explain it, without excuses. Haley was staring at her feet.

Mira said, What? It came out like a command. Clement looked imploringly at his sister before turning to Mira and blurting, Heth dead! Clement! Were not supposed to tell her! Mom didnt thay it wath a theecret. Pluth, I can thay whatever I want! Clement had a lisp that made him hard to understand. This allowed Mira a few moments to disbelieve what she had just heard. But she said Dad would be the one to tell her since he is the man of the house. Not you! Dead? Mira sat down on the bed. What happened? She didnt look up to see how Haleys eyes had welled with tears. Dad said it was a heart attack. Haley walked slowly out to the porch. Mom said hes sleeping with Jesus. Clement said, A math-ive heart attack. Covering her mouth with the back of her hand, Mira tried to absorb the shock of how drastically everything had just changed. Thats awful. Clement stood in front of Mira casting a squat shadow on the floor, and softly agreed, Yeth.

f/22

In this photograph you can barely see the rolling foothills behind a filmy veil. You guess that its morning by the way the sky has a diffuse illumination with moist haze that

has yet to burn away. There are no points of light. No clouds. The sky looks empty, huge, and ominous in its lack of boundary. The mourners gather under a solitary Valley oak in the middle of the composition. The meadow in which they are situated is clear of any other obstructions. There are no fences or borders to latch onto. The peoples faces are turned away from the camera. The complicated boughs and brambles covered in rough bark, under which the body has been buried are stark against the land falling away in the distance, and underfoot. A few somber shoulders lead to arms woven, and end with hands joined, fingers interlaced. This way, the people seem held to the surface of the Earth by will, and by their ability to latch on to one another. You see several of them standing alone on the periphery, wishing to observe and remember, but not to intrude. You feel unsettled by the illusion that they are floating there. One thing that strikes you is that this is not a mass gathering, but more of a small intimate one. You feel disrespectful wanting to count the number of people pictured in attendance, and the number is small, so you imagine the group would easily fit into one stretched limousine. Children stand holding onto their parents, listening to the words of adults, feeling lost in what is being said, but sensing the power of emotion in the voices of the mourners, and as children- wondering hopefully when something was going to happen. Yes, you say, something will happen when all the passages have been read, and the chosen hymns have been sung. But this wont fit in with a life so continuous. A sometimes quiet, sometimes

raucous life, filled with movement and thought, and belief. A burning passionate inner life; with most people, unknown, but in this case thankfully, conveyed through the work produced in its most ebullient and maudlin moments. Objects of beauty created and left behind as proof of their existence as real and important in the mind of their conceiver, this man, who has been lain in a hole far below the surface of the land he lived on. He has created visions of emotions once so vividly felt that its amazing that their power was conveyed within a thin layer of photosensitive emulsion. Though not the man, the emulsion can still be held and gazed upon, and his fervor felt by a sympathetic observer. His documented moments live on, but he does not and for some this will be unbearable, and they wont think of him or pore over his lifes work after this. They dont have the courage to accept his absence, or any absence for that matter. A few silhouettes stand holding single daffodils in anticipation of that final moment when they will ultimately separate their present with this person, merely a body beneath them, into the past. A male silhouette holds a cowboy hat at his side, while a young woman leaves hers, with a very wide brim, on. It is all just silhouettes, and you are among them now, obscuring the view of the hole in the ground. You cant see that hole unless you join them graveside, but the mound of dirt to the left of the gathering is proof that its there. You know the gash is surrounded by living souls right now, but after this it will be filled in with dirt and left, mostly alone,

forever. The body inside will be remembered by those who loved him in his living form, as he is allowed to slowly melt back into the earth. Inside his box, like a poor Egyptian king, are tools for the afterlife, should there turn out to be one. A favorite stereoscopic camera- the Realist ST-42, still in its original case, a bottle of cognac and two crystal glasses, a GPS system- chosen by his daughter, so that he may find his way in outer space. He is wearing his favorite lambskin slippers, and just because- his best suit, last worn: 1978. You suddenly notice something strange and moving, that no one else within the frame seems to see, or care about. From the highest branches, to the lowest twigs of the oak are perched a squadron of birds. They are not birds of a feather, however, but an odd assortment. A jay, a red-tail hawk, a turkey vulture, a crow, a meadowlark, a nuthatch, a sparrow, a swift, a robin, an owl, a kingfisher with a long beak, a flicker, and when you look intently you even spy a hummingbird; all still, all waiting in seeming solidarity. Your heart races when you notice this fact, because it is so unusual and yet it slipped by you at first and second, and third. You were too focused on the people around you and the attitudes revealed in their postures. How could you have missed it? You smile, and when you look again, you laugh at the absurdity. The birds shapes blend organically with the tree and in the shady morning light, they seem to prefer not being noticed. The gentle hawk alone observes the photographer and seems to benevolently approve of your presence. This grave will be identified with a simple marker set into the grass, reading Francis

Maxwell Bafflehaus, June 8, 1921- August 10, 2003. In sweltering summer months the cattle will rest on its surface in the shade of this honorable tree, and in the months when rain falls they will seek shelter under cover of its sparse and sturdy leaves. The surface of this marker will be kept clear of precious acorns by the advancing generations of a proud and industrious gray squirrel who is at this moment present, but hidden from view.

Chapter 3

I do not believe that the average person wants a map of his face- I believe he wants to be idealized. Louis Fabian Bachrach

It was still Miras responsibility to organize Bafflehauss work. In fact, her job had suddenly become more crucial now that she sought to secure his collection for posterity. It was toward this aim that she had been toiling ten hours a day for her first week in Vanishing River. She figured the faster she completed the job, the sooner she could be back in New York securing the one relationship that occupied her thoughts at least once every five minutes of every waking hour, of every single day. She may have been sorting through boxes of early Bafflehaus stereographic photo cards in the morning, archiving delicate negatives in the afternoon, or putting contact sheets in order by date at night, but it was Art she imagined standing before her with his facetious grin and his practiced retorts. Whenever she thought up something particularly witty in reply to her own imagined conversation, she rewarded herself with one of his smiles. This way, it was almost fun working long hours alone, for her mind did nothing but wander anyway. Her favorite thing to do was to create detailed scenarios that wended toward a kiss, their tongues dancing against each other, their breath mingling. In order to make it really delicious she usually held off on the last part. Have the conversation get them to it. If she skipped the build-up, the imagined kiss was never as sweet. The kiss was the goal with most of the vignettes, and until very recently, they rarely went beyond that point.

Mira cringed remembering a real incident the night before she left New York, when she and Art had gone to a party together and both had plenty to drink. P-lenty is putting it nice. Throughout the event he had noted to her the various hot women in the room, as if she wasnt one of them. And frankly, she wasnt. She rarely tried to enhance her appearance and figured that if Art were eventually to notice her it would be for her as they say. Even so, it had been her he had invited up to his apartment at the end of the night and it had been she who had gone, thrillingly, hoping to finally find out with him just exactly how one thing leads-to-another. Her fantasies about this were many and varied which one would it turn out to be? But the kissing, more frantic than sweet, led to the slobbering, which led to the pawing. And it all happened so fast she hardly had time to savor any of it. Eventually, he had tried to undress her, but she had hesitated for a millisecond, and so they had undressed him instead. It wasnt long after that he passed out. She still hoped he didnt recall much of the encounter.

Working in Bafflehauss study Mira made great progress in a little time, but was daunted by the distance left to go. He had been a prolific artist and stashed over fifty years of work, rather haphazardly in her opinion, throughout several locations; his house being the main one, but also his studio somewhere in town, and a storage unit on the property.

Though she was worried about that storage unit as no one seemed to know where to find the key to the padlock that held it closed.

Franks daughter would prove to be of little help. Ruthy Bafflehaus spent her afternoons slumping quietly through the house, if she moved at all. She was a goodlooking woman in her early forties, who seemed caught in time and could be mistaken for a twenty-something. Mira was accustomed to Ruthys face even before meeting her, as she had been one of her fathers more frequent subjects. Posed in fine clothing and seated in church pews, in front of a picnic basket amid wild flowers, climbing onto the school bus, floating on her back in the river, reading a book in the tire swing at the front of the house, even leaving for college. There were stacks of pictures of Ruthy; so many that Mira had created a separate file for many of them. Franks photos of his daughter were almost always shot in a bucolic manner. In the earliest she appeared more like a child of his era than of her own. At times, the woman-child could be demanding. I want a sandwich with peanut butter and bacon. Mira winced and tried to deflect her. I cant right now, Ruthy. I can do it myself. I know how. Did you know that? Ruthy called from the kitchen. Her voice was bland and her requests for attention nearly incessant. But alas, until arriving here it was only Ruthys face Mira had known, for everything else had been

invented for the camera. A pickle too. We like having pickles, like yesterday. Right? But Im not ready for pickles and bacon yet, Ruth. Its only 10:30, Mira told her. Why dont you see if you can find Haley. Maybe shell want to have a pickle with you. Im Ruth-ee! Not Ruth. Ruth-ee. Eeeee. Nobodys Ruth. She sounded irritated. The shock of meeting Ruthy had come at a time when everything here seemed to be a shock. Mira was growing numb to the oddness of this place and hardly noticed how strange it was to hear the voice of a child coming from the mouth of a comely forty-year old woman who was useless at keeping herself busy and who tired of most activities quickly. She watched a lot of television and had a penchant for ordering things off of it. When her father died and his credit card would no longer support her habit, she began having withdraws. Things ordered before his passing still arrived by mail, and the site of them made her anxious for more. One day, Mira heard Ruthy on the phone making up credit card numbers until the salesperson apparently hung up. She had been trying to order the sequel to Sweatin to the Oldies. Right now a case of Oxy Clean Foaming Cleanser sat unopened in the entryway next to a disgorged box of plastic nesting containers. A week ago Mira signed for the DVD box set of every season of St. Elsewhere. Ruthy had piles of costume jewelry from QVC, and more special edition Madame Alexanders than she had room on her shelves to display. With the arrival of every order she would gush something like, I really needed this! or Ive been waiting for you, Star Wars Light Saber! Most

recently, Mira had signed for a plain brown wrapper which turned out to be the boxed set of Cocksicles 1 through 6- The Complete Dessert. She later commandeered an unopened delivery of Proactive Solution. As a child, Mira had wished on every birthday candle, every shooting star, every fallen eyelash, every single ridiculous chain letter and wasted penny in the fountains of New York to be as beautiful and someone like Ruthy, but she had never considered if she would still want that to be true if it were all that she could have. It was around the time of wishing that she discovered something she could control regarding her appearance; That was that being behind the camera usually kept her from having to be in front of one. Ruthy Bafflehaus was obviously incapable of making decisions about the outcome of her fathers estate, and Franks son, Jeremy hadnt been seen much around the place since his late teens. In fact, according to Lloyd Conlon, recently Frank hadnt been sure month to month, if his son was still alive. Right after Franks death, an effort had been launched by social services to locate Jeremy, or his mother who was Franks ex-wife, Aida. Aida was now officially Ruthys next-of-kin and responsible for securing her welfare, otherwise she would be become a ward of the state. At the moment, Franks lawyer Willy Laloon was responsible for her as executor of the Bafflehaus estate. Mira met him one day when he came to collect documents from Franks house. In his capacity as the family lawyer, he expressed regret to Mira at not having pressed Frank harder about completing an updated version of his will. He knew his client and friend had been

attempting to strengthen ties with his son at the time of his death and had been reluctant to put a complete will into writing. Luckily he had specified a few things: Aside from the bequest of his collection to the museum, he stipulated that his acreage would go to his son, except for the main buildings of the house which he designated for Ruthy so that shed always have somewhere to live. Any money left over would be split between his son and daughter, except for approximately ten thousand dollars left to someone named Marinda. Mira had worked so hard all week she had barely bothered to feed herself and aside from her own wandering thoughts, shed had little diversion. She was considering an invitation from Bodey to check out a festival downtown the following night. The party was being thrown in honor of Frank by some of the townspeople and the twenty or so members of the local Miwok Indian tribe, almost all of which were considered half-bloods or less and who had returned to the area after generations in other places. The way Willy explained it, fifteen or twenty years before, a man named Big Lou and a few others advertised a group called the Committee to Revive the Old Ways, or CROW. They invited other Indians of Miwok dissent, or any of the closely neighboring bands such as the Piute, the Pomo, the Mono, or the Washo, to move to Vanishing River to learn the Penutian tongue, practice weaving baskets out of the young shoots of red bud, and to enjoy the abundance of acorns from the black oaks growing around town for making acorn mash in the traditional way. Because of this, the local group now sometimes referred to themselves as the Miwok CROW. According to Willy, it was this tight group that had suddenly initiated a party after

he announced that the six hundred and sixty-four point seven acres of Franks property could finally be returned to the descendents of the Indians whod been chased from it with diseases, pick axes, and guns over a hundred and fifty years ago. Some members of the tribe had occupied the land on and off for the past twenty years, and now, Willy proclaimed, they would finally be allowed to settle it rightfully again. According to Willy, Big Lou had been an important part of Jeremy Bafflehauss otherwise isolated upbringing. While Big Lou camped on the Bafflehaus land he got to know the young Jeremy; taught him to hunt and fish, to navigate the woods at night using the stars, to skin animals in the proper way and to tan their hides to last, also to honor the animals sacrifice in the process; he taught him to paddle a canoe, to start a fire in a downpour, and even shared with Jeremy some of the Miwok religion seldom revealed to non-tribal members. Big Lou was apparently anxious to reunite with his old friend and knew, as Willy did, that the boy would welcome this opportunity to return the land his father had cleaved to. Frank said hed have given it to us himself, years ago, Willy explained to Mira. But he wanted to keep a buffer of privacy around his family. He liked feeling protected by that land. Our tribe, of course has been respectful of that. He agreed that all this land was Indian land before the Spaniards came, he fanned his arms out wide. And that it should be ours to live on again when the day came that he or his family was no longer here. Plus, he was aware of Jeremys relationship with the CROW organization and figured that one

day he would give it to them anyway. He told me that much once, Jeremy did. Promised me that if he ever inherited the land that he wanted us to have it. Asked him then if I could get that on paper, you know? But, hes good for his word. Hes good for it. Hes a good man. Had some troubles in the past few years, but he stands by his word. Im sure of that. Saturday night was to be the impromptu jubilee and Mira was looking forward to the smoked barbecued ribs she heard would be sold there, and of course the beer... and if she was really lucky, perhaps the man without the hat. Theres going to be dancing too, Bodey touted. So if we go together, you have to promise to dance with me.

That morning, a breeze billowed the curtain inside Miras window bringing in the scent of dewy grass and temporarily overpowering the musty odor that inhabited the room. She lay there listening to the music of two Black Phoebes recounting stories of the nights events. Under one of the curtains an ominous shape stabbed Miras lazy trance. It was like she suddenly came down with lockjaw. A snake lay partially coiled and was seemingly unaware of her presence as she had been of his. Ohmygod! Her body jerked into a rigid position and her blood stagnated. Her heart became too cramped to move her heavy blood. And she stayed this way, breathing shallowly. So startled was she that she didnt realize at first how this would be another great story for Art. Her instinct was for escape. Yet, the thought of that snake making a slick slither for

her ankle, before she could reach the door, kept her hiding under the sheet. Lying there, she wondered if the snake might find a way into her bed. Can they climb bed frames? Chairleg bed frames? She cursed herself for not having asked someone this question when shed had the chance. Now that oversight was going to cost her her life. She thought of all those she loved, and the potential she had wasted, all the long naps and sleeping-in on Sundays. Youll have plenty of time to rest when youre six feet under. She knew the saying was true and now deeply regretted having squandered most of her life watching television and flipping through magazines- imagining that she could one day be like the people she saw in them. Almost naked under her white cotton sheet, she nevertheless began to sweat profusely and thought angrily of how little shed experienced in life; Specifically, it occurred to her, God this is ridiculous, how little sex shed had. Pathetic, but true! With a gun to my head it is the truth. It cannot end this way. She became resolute. There is too much to live for! Wearing the sheet like a dress and with her portfolio as a shield, she darted for the door and bolted straight to the Conlons house, not knowing until she was a hundred yards from her door if she had survived or not. All unbeknownst to the harmless garter snake that had been plotting his own way to steer clear of her. It was Saturday, and with Kitty already gone to work, Lloyd had planned a little sleeping in himself. He relished this time all week. It was his only time. When he reached Miras house he was outraged by the sight of the snake. His dirty shovel, intended for a

rattler beheading, now stood on the porch like a soldier at attention, awaiting command. Without a word Mira watched Lloyd bare-hand the snake and throw it into a bush outside her door, all as he marched back to his house. Dont ever get me up for no garters on a Saturday again! he snorted as he stomped back to his house.

It was the plan that day to phone Art at home for the first time since shed left New York. She had spoken to him several times during his hours at the museum about things like what to do now that Frank was dead, or supplies she needed sent by the museum, work-related stuff in other words. They hadnt had a private conversation yet and she longed for it. He would be surprised and delighted by her Saturday afternoon call and she wanted to be in a good frame of mind to give him the best impression of her existence. The open air shower had turned out to be one of the most unexpectedly pleasant elements of her accommodations thus far. It was surprisingly private, with the exception of birds peeping in from above, and once so far even joining her for a bath. Her plan was to get dressed up for her phone call. What the hell, man! Upon entering the shower stall she found another similar snake lying outstretched on the warm cement. She wondered if it might even be the same one. Determined not to make a fool of herself twice in the same morning, and as a test of will and penance for her embarrassment about the first snake, she mustered the courage to throw a bucket of water in the snakes direction. However, she hadnt really thought

through where the creature would go if she did this. To her relief it slid out of a slim drainage hole in the wall through which it had probably entered. Now she figured she would have a proper story for Art. When retelling it however, she planned on not revealing the identity of snake. It was a snake ok? she imagined herself proclaiming if pressed on the subject of its species, And it was giving me a dirty look. At the main house, she sat up straight in an armchair next to the phone, enfolded in its aromas of leather and cigar smoke. A drawer in the side table held magazines, a couple of bank statements, a coupon for mineral water, a sheet of one-cent stamps, a letter opener with a carving of a bull head on the handle, and a goldenrod envelope held closed by a brad- on it, scrawled in blue ballpoint were the words Final Will and Testament. She took it out and held it on her lap; Something for Willy. Mira tried to subdue a fulgent grin as she dialed Arts cell phone number. Cant people hear you smiling over the phone? Wasnt there a study about that done somewhere? She didnt want to plan out what she would say. You can always tell when a person has premeditated a conversation. Waiting for a specific answer so they can move on to the next premeditated point. Those people drive me crazy. So unsure of themselves. Im a much more interesting person to The line was ringing. His hello melted over her like massage oil. Art? Hi, its me! Hi! Whats hey, whats up? Im just about to go to this party downtown. Its going to be like a powwow or

something. Cool, that soun How are Oh sor-, Just, that sounds cool. Thats all I was going to say. How are you? Great! Hold on a sec. I want you to meet someone. Mira heard a muffled voice in the background, protesting being handed the phone. Just say hi, she heard him urge the person. Then he got back on the line, Mira, this is my friend Zarah. For Mira, everything in the room came into crippling focus. A deliberately sweet voice spoke, Hi. How are you? Mira was barely able to summon a cheerful tone, Good! And you? The phone had already been handed back to Art. Shes kinda shy, he said with that deadly smile in his voice. Her face clenched. Uh hmm. Thought you didnt care for timid girls. We met at an event. Then he giggled. He giggled! Ew! That fucker! Shes petting this hideous pug right now! Its so hilarious. Were in the park. Wh what event? That fuck-er. What? Oh God, its trying to get this guys sandwich! he was really laughing by this point.

An event where? Wait, just a sec. Shes asking...Wait. Shes asking this guy to give the dog some of his sandwich! You want to talk some other time? Miras upper lip was sweating. Heartburn seared her esophagus. Oh sorry, Mira. It was an event at the museum. You know those. Yeah. Theyre worth it just for the food. Yeah I know, right? Didnt think Id actually meet someone. Meet someone. Meet someone. Meet someone. Meet someone. MEET SOMEONE! Heh, heh. A chortle escaped her burning throat. Her heart was somewhere near the houses foundation by now. Were on our way to dinner, speaking of food. Its so weird to think its only the afternoon there! So are you loving it in Cali? Yeah, its great! This is a really interesting place. Really interesting. Goood! Im glad youre hanging in there. All she could think of was getting off the phone. Away from the phone. Far away. Yep. Hanging in. No, thats not the one we want. 3rd Street. What? Sorry, Zarah wasnt sure where we were going. In a cab. I think well take the

subway home. She likes the subway. Its so awesome she likes the subway. Oh. So anyway, Im supposed to be there already to the party, so I better take off. Can you hear it in someones voice when they want to die? Can you hear it when a person wants to stab themselves in the neck with a bull-headed letter opener? Mira, Im glad you called. Keep in touch, ok? Keep in touch. Keep in touch. Keep in touch. Sure. Bye. ByeOh, wait! Uh huh? What else, you little motherfucker? Zarah says it was nice to meet you. Can you hear when someone is rolling their eyes? Okay. Tell her- same from me. And you can both go and fuck yourselves.

An hour or so into the crying, Bodey showed up with his friend. Miras face resembled someone who had just had a chemical peel and collagen injections performed by a mechanic. Whoa, what happened? Bodey stood back from the door. His friend was shirtless. Mira had to look. Ill just splash with a little water. I dont know if that will help this time. Are you all right? he asked, his forehead crimping. You dont have to go if you dont want.

No, Im fine, she protested. You only think that because you still dont have a mirror. Thanks a lot, by the way. Lets just go. I have to get out of here. She was wearing a long blue sundress with thin straps that crisscrossed her back, a beaded necklace, sunglasses and a pair of lace-up boots, though sandals would have been more appropriate of course, but because of her mangled foot she never wore sandals. She pulled on a Yankees cap as far down as she could and still retain sight. She shoved the yellow envelope from the den into a crocheted purse slung across her body. Cool hat! said Bodeys friend, whom he finally introduced as Mike. Can I wear it? Bodey backhanded Mike on the shoulder. Dude, shut up!

Downtown Mira treaded among the living. A one man band performed on the deck of the abandoned outdoor deli. Food booths lined the sidewalk on the first block, as well as displays of Indian baskets and blankets, dream-catchers and painted rocks, all for sale. There was another booth full of handmade candles. A woman with platinum frizz to her waist sold silver jewelry inlaid with turquoise. A hand painted sign on the sidewalk in front of the saloon proclaimed Beer Garden In Back, with one drippy arrow pointing west. She could hear Chicagos, Hard Habit to Break over the cacophony of patrons jammed against the bar.

We need beersh, Mira announced to her underage friends. Then, Im checkin out those bracelets. Not twenty-one, Mike reminded her in a whisper. Again from Bodey, Dude, shut up! You better hope youre not twenty-one, with that baby face, she added quickly, Whatever. Thats a compliment. A crowd moved past and forced the three of them into single file. Two girls in the group who were about the same age as Miras young friends, stared like raccoons at the trio, marking the moment that Mira became single-minded about getting alcohol into her bloodstream. I can buy us as much as we want. You guys want? The boys looked at each other with raised eyebrows. Bodey lit a cigarette. Wait! his friend called, still shirtless. Could you get ours in soda cups? That would be key. The outdoor area of the saloon was chin to chin with people, but Mira managed to jostle and slink out with three huge Pepsi cups full of whatever was the cheapest thing on tap- it tasted like Natural Light. Within an hour, after another round of Pepsi cups, Bodey was letting Mira finish his second drink, as he escorted Mike home. Hungry for the first time all day, she bought a few Teriyaki chicken sticks and gnawed on them as she watched people parade by. Later when she bumped into the Conlons and bought Haley, Clement and herself soft-serve cones at the Burgers and Frosties place down the old road by the gas station.

Back at the festival a plump woman with an enormous bosom grabbed hold of Miras hand so they could pose for a picture. Where are all these people from? A pack of dogs made their way through the crowd, which parted amiably for them. A mannish woman in a long emerald gown sold neon halos and battery-powered roses with glowing centers from a basket over her forearm. By this point Mira was lonely and drunk, and smiling at people who unlike her actually seemed to be having a good time. Why am I smiling? How can I be smiling? What is this smile. She looked at her reflection in a window front. This must be a fuckyou smile. Fuckyou to Art. Fuckyou, Art- you havent ruined my day. Fuckyou, Im having fun anyway. Yes, Ill have another fuckyou drink. I think Ill go over and have a fuckyou dance too, fuckyou very much. From a fence over hung with pink clematis, Mira marched into a crowd dancing in front of a band performing surprisingly decent ZZ Top covers. In fact Mira found herself liking them much better than real ZZ Top. The sun had disappeared and the air was beginning to cool, condensing the smell of gardenia blossoms as it wafted in over a smoldering barbecue pit nearby. Once Mira had established herself in front of where the long-bearded band was playing she no longer felt like dancing, but a man with a belly almost the size of Mira herself, grabbed her and spun her around in several dizzying circles; After which she immediately dropped into a seated position on the high curb. A fellow dancer promptly stepped into her, getting dirt on the hem of her dress. When the Conlons happened to amble past Mira on their way home, Lloyd and

Kitty strongly suggested she come along with them. Clement, who wore a ring of dried chocolate ice cream around his mouth like a second skin ordered her to walk home with them. Clemmy-boy, love the goatee, Mira slurred. The boy looked up at his mom. Haley sung Ladies go crazy bout a sharp dressed may-on, with the band and danced a-rhythmically at the edge of the crowd. Well, if you arent going home, you should find a better place to sit, Kitty urged. Youre about to get your teeth kicked in.

Back at the beer garden, Mira shouldered up next to a pair of teetotalers seated at the bar and waited to order another beer. One of the men was on his cell phone. Yours works! she was amazed. The man nodded. Mine never works, she added loudly. He held it out to her. You just have to get lucky. He grinned a little with the man seated next to him. Be in the right place, when the breeze blows the signal your way. No thanks. Just noticed is all, she tapped her numbed lips with one finger. I never figured out how to do that. Be in the right place at the right time not with a cell phone. I know how to do that. At least I used to. She smiled at the other man sitting there

and was startled to recognize him as the young man without the hat. Its him! Its the guy! What did I just say? Did I say any of that out loud? They both looked at her quizzically. Her guy had no hat tonight as well, but the presence of a little facial hair is what threw her off. He seemed to observe her serenely. His lips are very full. The fact that she was watching his lips move as he spoke was obvious to everyone but her. Your wheat beer on tap, please, she said to the bartender and managed to sound cool enough, after which she was left alone with the two men to discuss the hand-off of the Bafflehaus land to the Miwok. Mira interjected again into their conversation. Im on that land. Live there I mean. For now Its supposed to be haunted. It is most likely haunted, stated the young man. How long have you lived there? Couple weeks, Mira garbled. Youre his assistant then, right? Or were, right? asked the older man. I am. Im still there working. Hes gotta lotta shit, Im tellin ya. Its gonna take me a looong-ass time to get it all organized. I think I might be getting messy here. Oh, right. Hey, you sure you need another? Getting kind of late now, isnt it? the older man asked. Nah, she waved him off, This was a shit day. Im jes getting started. The younger man glanced at his watch.

The older man agreed with her. Yes, youre just getting started on a horrible night, is what your doin. Both men chuckled. Im Lou, by the way. Big Lou is what people here call me, okay? Big Lou! sang Mira. Biiiiig Loooou, right? She threw her arms wide open in an imitation of hugeness. The men laughed at this. He wasnt really that large. And this is Alfonso, correct? Alfonso? he introduced the young man next to him. Alfonso Caton, he nodded and thrust out a hand for Mira to shake, but she failed to notice his gesture. She did however stop all other activity to concentrate on his lips again. Really bad day, huh? he added. In addition to appreciating the way his face moved when he spoke, she enjoyed the way he rolled his rs. Rreally the worst! she imitated him, as a compliment, and paid for her beer with a ten-dollar bill, leaving over five dollars in change in a pool of something on the bar. It must have been pretty bad, Alfonso certified, holding her change out in front of her. The saloon was not as packed as it had been when she came in for the second and third times. Most people had started early and had since shuffled home to fall into their beds, hoping to make it to church in the morning. How can I put this? she slobbered and gesticulated so wildly that she hit

Alfonsos shoulder with her wrist. An asshole I know put me on the phone to-day, with his friend Zarah. And the way she pronounced Zarah pretty much explained everything. I was all, looking forward to seeing this guy when I got back to New York, she looked up at the ceiling. But screw that now. She laughed cynically and yanked her hat off. Her shiny brown curls were sweaty and matted against her forehead. In fact thats probably what hes doing right now. She took a big gulp of beer, and swayed into a seat. Big Lou and Alfonso made eye contact. Alfonso asked, What is your name again? Im not sure I heard it. She introduced herself, but it came out sounding like Murray. The men exchanged another bemused look. I think we ought to tell the bartender that this one, Murry has had her last call, she heard one of them comment. M-I-R-A, she spelled out, and then tried to finish her beer in one swallow- but it was too much and it made her gag. Do you know what youre name means in Spanish? Alfonso asked Mira. She shook her head. It means something? He nodded. Judging by your smirk, it probably means Shit or something, right? she added. He shook his head, but laughed a little too. Looks he said. Mira means looks. Thats a good one, she said finishing the beer. All the talk of Art combined with

that final foamy gulp made her feel like leaving her teriyaki in the saloon bathroom. Suddenly feeling their judgment upon her, she staggered out without saying goodbye, and began limping toward home. Alfonso and Big Lou caught up with her, quietly holding a conversation as they walked along behind her. All right if we walk with you? Big Lou asked, in a telling voice. Normally she would have feared such involvement by relative strangers, but tonight she had lost her normal sense of care. If they kill me, so be it. Here she was with this Big Lou who seemed a regal figure, along with an unequivocally attractive man roughly her age, and she was just concentrating on not throwing up until they were out of sight. She wasnt too impaired however, to notice that her hat was gone, yet she couldnt be bothered about that either. In more sober examples of this sort shed have gone speeding back to retrieve her lost article. Tonight however, she briefly mourned its loss and then limped on. The good news was that she did make it home, and she did get safely inside without being raped or murdered. The bad news was that Big Lou had been right. It was to be a long, terrible night. And unfortunately she was going to remember most of it in the morning. It was about three a.m. when she heard a male voice echo across the meadow from the direction of the old church. In broad daylight she firmly believed there was no such thing as a ghost, but tonight the sounds of an anguished, disembodied voice from the darkness sent a chill through her like a shot of ice. Did I mix alcohols? After she heard the

moans, it was with great courage that she tiptoed to her door to make sure it was locked; and it was a noisy thing to do, but she pulled all the windows shut as well. Locked windows and doors probably cant protect someone from a apparition and its ethereal guard dogs, but she knew sleep wouldnt be an option unless she felt sealed in. And at the very least she hoped the old ghost would be deterred, figuring it must take them more effort to go through a wall than not to. Looking out onto the meadow she could see a corner of the church illuminated by moonlight. Again, the voice wavered and meandered like a whale call, and to her horror she actually witnessed the silhouette of a man hovering slowly toward the church. She didnt want to see any more. Now Im hallucinating. Maybe those guys drugged me. They put some kind of a pill in my beer. Acid. It was all too much to consider, so she hid under her covers, and that worked pretty well.

Chapter 4
When I looked at things for what they are I was fool enough to persist in my folly and found that each photograph was a mirror of my self. --Minor White

In a month it would be autumn, but for now the children still paid seventy-five cents to swim in the public pool next to the cemetery, or for free they could brave the mysterious waters of the river that ran through the corner of town. Thats where Haley and Clement usually went, and today they came home with tadpoles in their buckets.

Sun crawled in through Miras window just after noon, throwing a shaft of light that worked its way to her face, causing her to shift at intervals. The world was red through eyelids. This was the first time she had been in this room on a weekday at such a late hour. Usually her work ethic had her up by this late in the day. But in this place where nobody knew her family and with no friends calling, a seemingly endless amount of time to do a job with no boss setting a schedule- made getting up early seem to matter less and less. Surprisingly, her head didnt ache from the drinking of the night before, but she was exhausted from lack of sleep. The brilliance in the room made her anxious and so she decided to continue sleeping. Wakefulness brought thoughts of Art, and for the first time in three years those thoughts were unwelcome. How nice it would be to have a voicemail waiting for her; Someone expecting her to meet them somewhere. She had to turn her pocket inside out to get at her cell phone, which she liked to keep well charged, just in case. No service. No surprise.

On the porch at Franks house Mira stopped near Clement, Haley, and Ruthy who sat mesmerized by the tadpoles darting around in unpredictable patterns; One appeared to be dying. You guys went for a swim? We did, said Haley, motioning to Clement and herself. I can swim too! Ruthy said indignantly.

Haley reminded her, I know, but you didnt come this time. Its cause I got my period. At this explanation Clement focused intently on the little swimmers in his silver feed bucket. He didnt know exactly what Ruthy was talking about, but had the inkling it was something to do with being female. At this point Mira intended to avoid chit-chat of any kind, especially she decided if it involved Ruthys period, or anyones period, or really anything about anyone else at all. You guys should really let those tadpoles go. Its cruel, and the she dismissed herself into the main house. She was there ostensibly to do work, but once inside she was torpid. She passed the room with the armchair and the phone she had used yesterday. The glass eyes in the head of a mounted buck stared at her from the wall as she walked by, its frozen face offering more sympathy than she had gotten from anyone in two weeks. She imagined herself slapping Art in the face, and felt a little better for a few seconds. In Franks library Mira slumped to the floor with a box of loose prints she had been cataloging. Many of them didnt match Bafflehauss work and she was in the process of separating out the particular ones in question. An intriguing shot in the stack was unmistakably that of a young Big Lou. He was not so big however when it was taken, and she judged his age in it to be about thirty-five, doing the math she figured he must be in his 50s now, though except for the gray in his hair he looked much younger than that. The picture was slightly overexposed, but clearly showed him hefting an enormous fish with a

bar through the gills. What a thing to have gills Breathing through the water. Mira sat back, wondering what that would be like. Murky blue water all around you; Cold, even the sun would feel cold. Dirty reeds and rocks covered in slime; Eating insects; The taste of other fish in the water. She imagined drowning Art by holding his face in a toilet bowl. In the picture there were two fishing poles on the ground next to Big Lou. He stood in a grungy dirt parking lot, at the back of which one could just see water glinting behind a line of parked cars; it appeared to be some kind of a reservoir. He wasnt smiling enough to give her the sense that he had caught the fish himself. The next shot in the stack was in color and taken hastily by the look of it. Jeremy Bafflehaus posed in the center of a classroom mob wearing a faded blue t-shirt and a red baseball cap. He smiled trying to de-emphasize his lip bulging with chewing tobacco. Mira guessed by the poses that he was either popular or trying to appear that way for the camera. Mira heard Kitty enter the foyer with the kids. The front door was heavy, and scutted along the entryway floor as it was opened and closed. For an instant there was the sound of tinkling of wind chimes from the rear of the Conlons house. You two go on home, she told her children. But theres nothing to doooo there! complained Haley. Cardth? Clement offered hopefully. I dont want to play! Just go on home, please. Ive got to tend to Ruthy. Now go!

Can we please get a dog, Mommy? Pleeease! Pretty please? Youve got your stuffed animals. Go on and play with them. I want a real dog, Haley whined and shuffled her feet as she and her brother were ushered out the door. First there was a pause and then some manufactured crying. Now git! Kitty snapped, and the door dragged cumbrously closed. Kitty and Ruthy went together into the bathroom. Water was drawn. Im sorry. I forgot to change my period like you always told me. You mean your pad Its all right, Ruthy. You just get in and take a nice hot bath. No one will know anything happened at all. Now give me your clothes. It occurred to Mira at this point that they didnt realize she was in the house. She debated making a purposeful noise until one was made for her. A precariously balanced box went over. Kitty called with alarm from the bathroom down the hall. Whos there? Its just me. Mira. Oh Mira! Kitty yelled back. So you made it home last night? We was a little worried. Made it fine. She suddenly remembered her escorts and wondered what the young Alfonso thought of her now. After a few minutes Kitty appeared in the doorway of the library. She was a tall

woman; taller than her husband by at least two inches. Her hair was supposed to be wavy blond, but instead it looked burned and patchy with highlights; styling that was the result of too much indecision and not enough professional help. Her face was sweet but weathered enough to suggest that she was older than her thirty-something years. She still wore her apron and nametag from the diner. You worked today? Mira asked. Kitty nodded. Brought some day-old donuts if youre interested. Theyre in the kitchenperfectly goodLittle gooey in some spots. Youre hanging in there, I see. Barely. I feel miserable. Well you saw me last night. I dont usually get like that. It was stupid. Her head pounded. Oh, I know how it is. I aint going to be drinking for a while now, though. Yeah? A big grin broke over her face as she rubbed her belly. Im only two months, so dont tell nobody. Only Lloyd knows. Not the kids yet. I dont want em disappointed if something happens. Mira hummed and put her hands in her lap. Ill just be quietly excited for you then. They could hear Ruthy splashing in the bath water. Kitty what? she asked over the echo of the water. Shoot. I gotta go make up something to tell Ruthy. Kitty was smiling though,

and just then untying her apron, stained with egg yolk and ketchup. Mira glanced around the room. Oh just tell her you found a book in here youve been looking for. Kittys smile turned to chagrin. Oh yeah, thatd be a good one.

Around dinnertime Mira walked to town for ice cream because it was the only thing she could imagine eating. She also desperately wanted a magazine to flip through. It was almost a physical need; in fact it was a jones. She couldnt relax as it was and flipping through a magazine was the only thing she could think of that would help her. Watching TV in the main house made her feel strange, and so she had only done it twice, and so little television made her unbelievably restless. Unbelievably. She longed to sit up late watching anything and realized it was not about the shows- it was about the zone and getting in it. Without the television, she found she had no way to escape from herself. She was antsy for the closest thing she could get. Magazines were a genre all their own; TV-you-can-read, she said out loud, greeting the rack before her. The magazine wall at the gas station was a blitz of color. It was Miras ritual not to pick them up and flip through them as she was choosing. For her, that would spoil the surprise of turning each page. Art had openly despised her magazine habit and regularly criticized her consumption of pop culture. I get them because theyre fun, she tried explaining. Now she imagined stuffing crumpled magazine pages down his gullet, gagging

sounds muffled by the addition of each glossy page. She recalled him saying, How can they be fun to read? Theres nothing to read. Its all ads! Plus every single one is the same. The exact same thing over and over. What could be interesting about them anymore? She remembered he had been incredulous. Look at this girl! He flicked at the model with his middle finger. You dont look anything like her! Why had she continued listening to his tirade, let alone participate, she did not know. So!? Well, doesnt that make you feel bad? How could I have ever liked that person? Why did I waste all those years infatuated with someone who was so rude! Youll never look like her? All he cares about is how someone looks. She imagined punching him in the stomach, and then her mind went directly to Zarah. She snarled at the thought. The gas station attendant glanced at her, then went back to his own magazine. It had dirt bikes on the cover. How boring. In the final minutes of her deliberation she became flustered and rushed her decision. She snagged a copy of Shape. Art wouldnt complain about this one so much. There are articles in here. Immediately upon leaving the gas station, I wish Id gotten Vogue instead. A fuckyou Vogue. Or Cosmo. A really big fuckyou Cosmo. She imagined hurling the magazine like a Frisbee and watching the corner of its spine nail Art in windpipe. And she and felt better for a few seconds.

She was now able to be singularly focused on getting home, so she could cry. Calling her dad or her friends back home would have been a great comfort, but she knew she would cry if she did that. Contrary to her normal way of dealing, worrying them was the last thing she wanted. She was on her own out here, especially since it was hard for her to admit, even to herself, why she was so upset. No one needs to know and Ill just get over it somehow. However, she got the fleeting sensation that someone did know. But she couldnt remember who she may have mentioned the situation to, or how much she had told them. Oh well, Ill never see them again whoever they were. The gift shop was open and the mingled scents of flowery candles uplifted her as she schlepped by the door. She hoped Bodey wasnt watching from his post at the hotel as she ducked in to the shop. An older woman sat behind the counter instructing a teenage girl with severely over-plucked brows, on how to use the cash register. Mira had been thinking about stuffed animals since that morning when she heard Kitty telling Haley to go home and play with hers. Since Mira was a little girl shed had a predilection for the kind of plush creation that mimicked their real life version. Now she felt the old rush from the times her parents allowed her to pick out a new stuffed animal at the toy store. They all sat in front of her like puppies at the pound. Any one of them could be hers. She felt the new friend hopefulness wash over. Yes. It was very much like adopting a puppy without the housebreaking although it was fun to pretend that too if you ran out of ideas for more uncommon adventures. For example, she remembered enjoying the idea of her animal

getting stuck in a tree and needing to be rescued by its friends. Im too old for this. Setting up a bowl of kibble is one thing, but What the hell. Fuck Art. Do I want real or cartoony? Big, little? These were enjoyable dilemmas, and freeing, and worth the lost hour spent debating their resolutions. A big golden retriever with exaggerated wrinkles made her doughy inside. Pretty color. She stroked it. Too nylon, and his pose is too hard and fixed. From where she stood the world was berry scented, and she inhaled it from the stuffing of a parrot. Youre cute, she mouthed to the dairy cow, and smiled at a fox and bear sewn together in an inanimate and unwilling embrace. Whoever designed him was a fool trying to look natural embracing a fox. Hmph. Just let us know if you have any questions, said the woman behind the counter in a well-worn manner. Her t-shirt stretched hard over her enormous breasts. Mira considered that they might have seen her talking to the stuffed animals. Yes, thank you. Who gives a shit. Ive got a credit card, and Ill stay in here until closing if that is how long it takes me to make this decision. Frogs and fish as stuffed animals are stupid. They arent furry animals, but sewn out of fur. Whatever. She had no call to adhere to her parents rule of picking just one. I can have as many as I fucking want! No limits! Im stuck out here in BFE, and if this is what Ive got, then this is what Ive got Pet bunnies- boring, and teases in real life. So soft and those big shiny eyes, but they wont let you touch them! No bunnies! A lion, a monkey, an elephantwhich is another non-fuzzy animal, unless you

count big wiry whiskers growing out of their ass. The monkey. Her cheeks flushed with excitement as she began to feel funny about all this. She looked around the store surreptitiously, and took the graphite gray vervet monkey carefully from the shelf. I love this monkey. He is my friend. The stuffed animal, along with a bag of Tootsie Rolls, and a calendar with pictures of Vanishing River made up her purchase. She was afraid it would have been too obvious buying the monkey alone, as if the girl behind the counter had any idea that he was not meant as a gift, but as a friend. On her way out the door she was already picturing her new monkey-enriched reality, and planning to fashion for him a play area with his own bowls of food and water on the counter. Hell be a helper monkey. The counter would be appropriate because real monkeys can jump and climb. Hell sleep next to me in bed, of course. She clutched her goodies to her chest and strolled past the saloon on her way home. A few steps later she pulled the monkeys head out of the plastic bag, imagining him to be suffocating in there. God Im weird, she thought, no longer looking forward to crying, but instead to setting up scenes she could photograph her monkey in. The Indian guy and the cute guy! Oh God, I told them! She suddenly remembered their conversation. Damnit! Whats done is done, Dad would say... But Im pathetic. No, youre not. But, you drank too much thats for sure.

I know, and believe me, I paid for it last night. I even hallucinated a ghost. A ghost, huh? Yep. A ghost. Next time you go out drinking, make sure you eat something first.

A pair of women out for a speed walk smiled hello as they passed her. It amused Mira to watch the puffy hair of one of the women bounce each time her heals made contact with the sidewalk. She smiled at them then looked down to see the way she was cradling her new stuffed animal. Oh, she thought, how I wish I had a real monkey.

Chapter 5
If you are not willing to see more than is visible, you wont see anything. --Ruth Bernhard

Several days ago Mira had hefted an antique forties-era fan across the lawn from the main house. It had a swirl design that went in the opposite direction of its whirling blades. She like the way it looked so much that she failed to heed the warning of its fraying

cord. Right after turning it on, the thing threw fire and shorted out the power to her cottage. Lloyd insisted she go with him to flip the breaker in the maintenance shed. The second time she plugged in a fan she found at Franks house she wore an oven mitt. The monkey was propped in bed next to Mira; both of them staring out the window. The new fan oscillated slowly, making her cold in waves. When it rotated off in the other direction it left her feeling hotter than if it had not blown on her in the first place. So many things are like that, she thought. You are better off without them in the first place, so that when they are gone you dont feel the pain of their absence. She actually did look wind-burned, but that was from crying. Her sobs had reached a new personal record. Her forehead ached, her eye sockets throbbed, her nasal cavities were fully saturated. Her stomach hurt from the convulsive sobbing and swallowed spit. Her throat was sore and her voice raspy from the hoarse groans of agony that accompanied really letting it rip. She even tested new ways to increase the sounds of anguish by adjusting her pitch and volume. Every time her mind escaped to pleasant thoughts, she would remind herself of how bad things really were. What am I doing here? If she imagined being in a more hopeful state of mind and her tears receded, she would have to remind herself of how discarded she was, which would achieve her goal of bringing back her feelings of self-loathing. Im unattractive, inarticulate, and destined to end up alone. Im also mean and useless, so I guess it all makes sense. No wonder Arts not interested. I am a horrible detestable person.

After spending most of the morning lying in bed, there came what could have been a restorative knock at the door, but Mira just lay, slowly stroking the soft fur on top of the monkeys head. When the person rapped again she felt guilty, in case it was something important, so she slunk under the sheet to feign sleep. The person knocked a third time. This is getting annoying. Then they didnt knock anymore. She exhaled with relief and sat up. Monkey, is my friend. I love him. At which time the person must have heard her and knocked again, Im not home today, she commanded from her prone position. Little voices conferred about this information. After a moment a smaller tapping came from lower on the door, and its sound barely registered. Mira rolled her eyes. It was Haley and Clement, and theyd obviously been sent to check on her. Now that they knew she was alive they could report their findings and return to whatever game kids played when they lived in a place where there was absolutely nothing to do. Ill never have kids. This thought brought on a fresh sting of tears. She remembered that she was devoting a prime reproductive year to a lonely, dusty place that offered her little to nothing in return. She went back to staring out the window in the direction of the infamously haunted church and suddenly there was Clement peering in. Damn. He waved to her, but didnt smile. These kids arent happy. His blank face was what finally motivated her to let them in when they returned for another round of knocking. They are kin.

Once inside the door, Clement lisped, Are you thick? and placed a hand softly at the edge of her pillow. She said, Yeah, I am a little sick. But Ill be fine. Weve been sitting out there waiting and waiting and waiting and wait-ting for you to come outside. Haley complained, her arms imploring with palms facing upward, biceps so tense they were sinuous. Or, juth play. Sorry, I didnt answer the door. I didnt feel like getting up. Its okay. I get sick and my mom brings me everything because I dont want to get up too. Clement finally noticed the stuffed monkey next to Mira. Thee hath a toy! Mira gazed at the monkey. Yeah. Were just taking her easy. There was too much pride in her voice. Whats his name? Dont know yet. Aint got no name. Monkey, I guess. Aints not a word, Haley corrected. Thath not a name. Thath what he ith. What ith hith name? You can give him one, Clement. No, let me give him one! Haley whined. Hey! I asked Clement if he would.

But he cant talk right. He can talk. Mira stared deeply at the girl. I can understand what he says. But if it should be a name with an s then hell mess it up. To show his embarrassment, Clement went for the door. Mira called, Please Clement, dont leave. Feeling sorry Haley was quiet. Dont leave, Clement, you should get to name the monkey, she said with almost endearing resolve. He rubbed his lips with the tips of his long fingers. Are you bored? Haley asked Mira. Against her will she was beginning to feel uplifted by the presence of real and not imagined humans, in the room with her. My mom always brings us stuff to read when were sick. Ive got books on that shelf over there. I could get them if I want. With that thin segue, Haley offered, My mom cant read. Mira wasnt sure of what she had just heard. Oh? That sucks. Shes a very good waitress, though. Wow. I wonder how she. My dad can read. He reads us stories sometimes. Can you read? Haley rolled her eyes pride-fully. Im in fourth grade. Well, I was assuming, but you know. Why why dont you teach your mom?

Me? Her fingers went to her chest. Im not supposed to teach my mom things. Why not? Cause, shes supposed to teach me stuff! So? You could do it. She wouldnt like it if I did. Haley rolled her tongue into a hollow tube. Have you asked her? No, Haley said. She stood at the edge of the bed with her legs twisted around each other so tightly that her right foot faced left and her left foot faced right. Why dont you ask her sometime? I bet youd be a great teacher because youre really smart and you understand how a lot of things work, huh? Why dont you teach her? Me? It would be better if you did. But you were in college. Right? Yes ,but its been too long since I learned to read. I dont even remember how I learned. Haley twisted her mouth and turned her feet even more, so that her insteps were almost facing the wall behind her. The question mark formed by her eyebrow and the mole on her temple crimped as she struggled with the idea. Clement, what are we going to call this guy? He had been waiting until he was addressed to share his thought. George!

Like Curious George? Mira asked. Not a great pick, Clemmy. Shouldve listened to Haley. No. He shook his head in earnest. No, cause his girlfriends names Georg-ia. Huh, Clement? Shes been his girlfriend since he was three. Hu-uh! Theath not my girlfriend! Clement defended himself, rather firmly for his usual standards. She is, huh, Haley sung. It was now almost two in the afternoon; the three of them, plus George, sat on the bed playing round after round of Go Fish. Miras sinuses drained in a quick rush, sending cold air into her head, and with it her mood began to shift. During the second game Haley suddenly raced to the bookshelf. Ive been looking for this! she yipped and pulled a warped photo album from the bottom corner of the shelf, leaving clean tracks in the dust behind it. Clement went over to see. Its my scrapbook!.. Ok, not my Franks, but then it belonged to me for a while. He gave it to me. Then my mom took it away She said she put it in a safe place, but I didnt know where. Mira asked, Why would she take it away? Haley didnt answer immediately. She glanced at her brother. Cause I looked at it

too much. Ive been wondering where she hid it. It wath becauth you had nightmeerth. Mom thayth you cant have it. Haley said, I know, half melancholy- half surly. Whats in it, you guys? Pictures about something that happened. And articles and stuff, from newspapers and magazines and stuff. About what? Lets see. Bring it here. The tattered album was covered in faded olive-green canvas, with two tarnished brass buttons barely holding it together. Inside were well-worn black construction-paper pages faded to gray, and on each was a yellowed newspaper clipping. The first headline read, CCD Bus Still Missing. On the next page, Heaviest Snowfall on Record: school warned to cancel trip, with a picture of the cab of a snowplow poking from out of a snowdrift. The next pages headline read, Searchers Find 2 Bodies, 12 Still Missing. Thee youthed to look at it too much. Clement, shut up! Haley shouted at her brother. Ignoring them, Mira turned the pages carefully. Before mom took it away, Clement and I used to play a game of it. When she took it, she made us stop playing. What game? Mira asked while looking down at the headline spanning the fourth and fifth pages, Bus Found: 1 Survivor, 11 Dead.

Thee youthed to think thee wath in the acthident. No, I didnt! Haley scorned. Shut up, Clem-ment! Whats the game you guys played? Okay, but you cant tell Mom, Clement. Do you swear on a stack of bibles? Clement crossed his chest with two fingers. They moved silently into position for a routine that appeared anciently familiar to them, arranging several chairs to both of their satisfaction. Despite the stuffiness of the room, the siblings huddled together between, and almost under, several of the chairs they had set up in the middle of the room. Theres only two of us when we play it, Haley explained to Mira after they were in position, but there were twelve kids. Ok? A bunch of stuff has already happened, but well just go to the end of the game. I dont want to go to juth the end! Clement protested. But, in case Mom comes over here! We have to finish quick. Clement acquiesced and the pair crouched together with their limbs intertwined like one ball of flesh, shuddering on the floor. Mira was astonished by the grim little play. Im so so cold. I feel like falling asleep. You cant go to thleep. Thtay awake! Dont you underthand me?! Im so hungry, too. Its been two days! I with our teacherth would juth come back to thave uth.

Theyre not coming back Michael. Why do you alwayth get to be the one who livth? Be-cause, member? Im the one who she continued in a whisper, died. Haley fell out of character for a moment, then caught herself. She darted a glance at Mira. What-ever.., just be Michael. Thats how we always play. How we used to always play. Clement let out a sigh, and the play resumed. Im thorry Tharah. I cant thand the cold any more. I need to reth-t now. No, Michael! Please dont leave me alone in the middle of all these dead kids! Im scared! Dont be thcared, Tharah. When I go, my thipirit will find the people and I will lead them here to you. I promith, I will make thure you are thafe. Pleath yuth the heat of my body to thay alive. Im giving you my heat tho you can live. Clement delivered his lines like a professional, with the chilling poignancy of words beyond his six years. Then his body went limp in realistic stages, until Haley, a tear falling free, held her brother weakly against her. Mira was confused but wanted to be enraptured, as if taking in a small production in the East village. She didnt interrupt the play as Clement continued dying, and Haley rocked him gently, her silent tears turning to sobs. Please dont go. Please dont go, she begged. Please dont leave me. Slowly her tears subsided and the play seemed to come to an end. She looked over to Mira, and as an aside to the script said, Now I get rescued. You come over and pull me out.

It was only the third time that day Mira had been out of her bed. (The first had been to pee, the second had been to open the door after the incessant knocking, and now to pull a half-frozen child from a van crashed on a mountainside, covered in snow.) She extended her arm from over the top of a car window of chairs, and Haley lay Clement down in a curled position on the floor next to her. He really did seem dead. Haley took Miras hand and climbed onto one of the chairs. Without prompting, Mira then carried Haley to where the child then crumpled to the floor. Mira crouched next to her and they hugged briefly and strangely, signifying the end of the ordeal. Clement was still motionless on the floor. He seemed uninterested in watching the final scene, even through his eyelashes, and it should have been interesting because they had never actually had someone else there to rescue the survivor. All the other times they had played one of them would just pretend the searchers part themselves. Clement, you can get up. Its over, Haley called then looked at Mira. He still lay there awkwardly on the hardwood floor. Clement? Mira asked, her voice going higher. Still no reaction from him. Both girls rushed over and Haley startled her brother to wakefulness. Her eyes wide with fear of the place they had both just been. Clement peered around confused, until he saw their faces. He rubbed the side of his cheek streaked with red lines from the wood,

where it had been pressed against the floor. I fell athleep. In a flash of un-choreographed affection for her small brother Haley fixed his hair with her fingers. Mira tried to break the heavy mood by loudly rearranging all her chairs into their original positions. As her two young friends left for dinner she held out the scrapbook to Haley. You want it? Or do you just want me to keep it for you? Haley looked down at the once coveted edition. I dont want it anymore. You can keep it. Ok. Hey, I was thinking about getting some ice cream later, if you guys want to go. I can buy it for you, if youre mom says its okay for you to have it. The two kids smiled at each other. It would not be a dilemma.

Mira sat down at her table and opened the scrapbook to the back where there was an interview with the girl who survived the horrific accident, by that point in her early teens and apparently several times in and out of drug treatment programs. What do you plan to do with your life? the interviewer queried. The parents of the other kids are hopeful that youll honor their children by making great achievements in your life. I try, the girl replied. But, I dont want to disappoint anyone. Im just like everybody else. I make mistakes. Im just ordinary.

The interviewers next question, What do you feel you owe to the families of those children? would be considered by most, in poor taste, but that wouldnt stop anyone reading it from wanting to know her answer. I dont know, she said. But, I would just like it if everyone left me alone. Dont you feel any kind of obligation to those children who died? To better yourself? Reading this, Mira wondered if the interviewer was a family member of one of the perished. They werent dying to save me and I would have too. I should have died I mean. Its a curse that I lived. Sometimes I wish I had died. She leafed through some of the other pages. One headline suggested Indian Ritual Blamed for Snow. The article began: Investigators of Californias worst church bus accident in 20 years have ruled out mechanical failure as the cause of the accident that killed 13 church members, including one pastor and two adult chaperones in December of 1977, near Vanishing River (CA). There were early reports that a local Indian ritual was performed on the same day as the blizzard which overtook the bus containing the children and their chaperones during an annual sledding trip for the school. It is also believed that the site of the accident is itself by some accounts cursed. Reported as once a sacred location for ritualistic tribal gatherings, it is now said to be a dangerous place for non-Indians. Historical records show that a murder was

committed there by one miner of another in 1853 when the location was used for a summer mining camp during the gold rush. Historical record also bears out that in 1935 Norbert Shaw of Angels Camp, a one-time candidate for mayor, lost control of his vehicle on Wanderers Canyon Road. The car went down an embankment and Mr. Shaw and his elderly wife Betty Jean, were both killed in the accident.

Moments later, at their mothers request, Haley and Clement were back to invite Mira over for spaghetti. At the table, Lloyd asked her So you hear about the guy whos gone missing? Been gone a couple days now. Wifes worried sick I hear. Kitty let out a puppy whine. Who is it? Mira asked. Yep. Eldon Leonard, Lloyd replied. Mira asked between bites of spaghetti, What do they think happened? They? Lloyd asked. You mean the police? Havent heard nothin yet. Kitty, you hear they found him yet? Nope. She answered from the kitchen where she was putting the leftovers in the refrigerator. Not that I heard. Sure hope hell come wandering back in the next few days like he always does. Whatll Patty do about the kids if he dont? Haley started picking up the empty plates and silverware on the table. Clement

stayed in his booster chair listening quietly, and Ruthy had already gotten up and left. What do they suspect happened? Mira asked. Wandered off! Lloyd nearly shouted. Simple as that. Oh Mira, Kitty said as she came back into the room. Hes a drunk. She whispered the word and shielded her mouth from Clements view. Walks away like this ever once in a while. Yep, but Kitty he aint never stayed out any, what, almost, four days now? That aint his usual deal. Always sleeps it off in the woods or somewhere and comes back next mornin. Oh, Lloyd his wife said to him, I cant listen to this right now. Youll have to let me know what you hear, Mira was sincere. She followed Kitty into the kitchen. Now, you dont have to do this. Kidsre waiting. Lloyd get in here, please! Mira and the kids needs to get going if theyre having you-know-what. Into Miras ear she whispered, So Ruthy dont hear. Itd be lot of trouble for you if she tries to tag along. Plus, we got stuff here for her if she wants a little somethin sweet. Youve really been so nice having me over. Are you sure I cant help you clean up? In my house everybody helped until it was all done. I feel weird leaving you with all those dishes especially when you do that all day at work. Oh, I dont do those dishes, honey. I dont even usually have to pick em up. Plus

you kept them kids out of my hair all afternoon, and now youre offerin to do it again? That right theres a great big help to me and my husband. We can relax here and enjoy ourselves after you all take off. Go on ahead. This is no problem. Go ahead on.

As early fall, it was surprisingly warm for seven oclock at night. The sun was coming in low over the hills these days and Mira felt like it was right in her eyes. The three of them were still full of spaghetti by the time they had walked the mile or so to town. I might be too full for this, Mira said. Theres always room for ice cream. Haley offered. It will melt and fill in all the gaps between the noodles. Behind the counter were topping jars of chocolate and jimmies. There was one tub of caramel, and one full of cherries in syrup, and one of fudge of course. Mira knew already what she wanted: soft-serve chocolate ice cream in a cone, dipped in chocolate. She was ready to order but patient, knowing from past experience that Clement would be very indecisive. Haley was reading him the menu board behind the register when someone Mira recognized came through the double-doors. In her mind, she fell to her knees on the hard tile floor. It took her a moment to notice that Alfonso was wearing the Yankees cap she lost when she was drunk at the street fair. He took it off abruptly and handed it to her as if he had expected to see her there. You can keep it, she told him and was a little surprised when he actually did,

without protest. He acknowledged, I like it, and folded the cap carefully to fit it into his waistband. He looked freshly showered with his medium-length hair still wet in the back. He wore a light blue shirt with embroidery along both sides of the placket, and his jeans were as beatup as his flip flops. He had the ideal contrast of tan skin to white teeth that made her muse that she might be looking at an unknown prince. That could be the only explanation for his grandeur. I was hoping you survived the night last weekend. Mira blushed inwardly. We cant loose you from here so quickly, he added. Hi. Alfonso, right? Mira noticed that her forehead and upper lip were moist. Stop it with the flop sweat! He can see that! If he doesnt and I wipe it off then hell still know it was there and I wiped it off. Oh God, its beading! Yes, and you were Mira, he says. You are Mira, I mean. Correct? Hi. Yes. It was confirmed at that moment by the smell of soap that he had in just showered, but had not bothered to shave. A gold cross lay against his chest. Where I would like to be. How are you doing? he asked. Just getting ice cream with my buddies here. They live over on the Bafflehaus property with me. Or I should say I live with them on the property. This is Haley and this

is Clement. The four stood smiling respectfully at one another, not speaking. The clerk glared expectantly. They were the only customers in the shop but he had ice-cream-coated blenders stacked in the sink behind him. We already said what we want, Haley told Mira. My turn? Chocolate soft-serve, in a cone, dipped in fudge. Alfonso followed her to the counter. She turned to him, Go ahead, Im buying. I owe you one for the other night. Getting me home safely and all. Coming out of her depression from earlier in the day made her feel generous. Of course not. I should be buying for you. You have given me a wonderful hat. Eh. She recalled finding that hat under a seat a at movie theatre. Seriously, its my pleasure. Ive already got the cash in my hand. See? You are very nice. If I accept, then I will owe you the next one. The clerk shifted from one foot to the other and put his hands on his hips, which were wide, womanly hips for a man. Vanilla cone turned over in a cup, he said as he examined the toppings carefully. With strawberries please, Sir. Even though the idea had been for Mira to walk the kids home with their ice cream, they all sat down at a tall table with bar stools. Haley noted aloud the change in plans, and Mira condemned her comment with an urgent, accusatory stare.

Have you heard about the man whos missing? Alfonso asked between licks of vanilla. Oh, right the drunk. Hes been missing a couple days now? Do you know did it happen during the festival? No, it was after. See, he was at the bar when we were there, supposedly. Haley and Clement were having an argument about the best topping combinations as his face became further and further engulfed in his light blue bubble-gum ice cream. Hmm. Do you remember seeing him? Mira asked. Alfonso shook his head. He was there until after last call, though. Thats what I heard. There is something Mira had not planned on mentioning about the night Alfonso and Big Lou had walked her home. In fact, she hadnt even recalled it herself until now. A memory of the voice floating across the field came to her slightly at first- then strongly. What time was that? Last call. Do you remember? Not sure, but it was about 1 oclock when we left and they hadnt had the last call yet. I would remember. You would have placed an order. He was being playful. Mira blushed outwardly this time. I dont remember much, as you can imagine. You must know something please, I am seriously not normally like that. I hope you dont think Im a lush or something. A lunch?

Lush. An alcoholic. He shook his head. If you were used to that behavior you probably would not have needed to be escorted home. Sorry, but am I not correct? he remarked. I myself dont really drink anymore. No? Booh. I noticed that it became too important to me, but I was not enjoying it as I once had. I needed to give it up for a while. She nodded. So what time do they think that guy disappeared then? Sometime after last call because he ordered one at that time. The bartender reported it. Alfonso pulled several napkins out of the dispenser and handed them to Haley for use on her little brother. Do they suspect foul play? Foul play? he cocked his head to the side. Murder, or whatever foul play. I dont know why they call it that. But, I have a weird story. You want to walk part-way with us and I can tell you? With her eyes she indicated the kids, as she intended for them not to hear what she had to say next. They all got up and cleared the table. Haley and Clement skipped ahead a few yards. I was up all night, practically, that night. Alfonso chuckled knowingly as he walked along beside her with his hands in his front pockets.

Im not even sure I want to tell you this. Im just my memory of it so He interrupted her. Qu es? Mira took a breath. I heard a mans voice in the field. She looked over at Alfonso, who had her full attention. It was going out toward the old church. Past it probably. Everyone says its haunted, so I was like, that must be the ghost or whatever. And I didnt want anyone to think that I believed in ghosts so but I started to think that that was what it was I dont know. I cant remember exactly when I heard the voice or what exactly I was thinking But I was most likely delirious or whatever and it freaked me out, kinda. I guess I must have dismissed it. Honestly I think I kind of forgot it happened at all. Then tonight I heard about this guy missing and suddenly I remembered and I thought maybe I dont know. You are telling me seriously? Alfonso had stopped walking. She didnt look at him. Yeah, I just heard tonight and was thinking... Lloyd mentioned Es una atrocidad! You should have said this sooner. He ran ahead. Wait at your house, so you can guide the search party! But, what if it was anapparition? It was not! Alfonso scolded her as he hurried away.

Within half an hour, a group of around fifteen men and women, a few of them

teenagers, arrived at the Bafflehaus ranch, some with their dogs, a few on horseback, and others with rope, bullhorns, binoculars, and flashlights. Mira went inside and put on a pair of jeans with her tank top and tied a long-sleeved flannel around her waist. She grabbed her camera out of habit. They put her up in the saddle behind a man who introduced himself as Poppy Redgrove. Ive ridden all over these hills, young lady. Youll be safe on this horse. This is the land of my people, and I know it like I know the wrinkles in my old skin. Why did ya wait so long to say anything? Lloyd disparaged her from the ground below. Part of the river runs down here, and theres a pretty steep drop off. Cold too. He looked as glum as everyone else, and Miras embarrassment formed into tears. Oh well, he added, it might have been too late the night he went missing, anyway. Probably already drown. May have been a ghost you heard after all. He handed her a lantern. Mira wanted to scream, because Lloyd was right. This man will be found dead and it will be my fault. Alfonso already thinks Im an idiot. I will never forgive myself for this. Never. Why must I learn everything the hard way? Mira held tight to Poppys waist as the assembled group fanned out across the field.

f/19

You had been riding almost exactly an hour when the most vibrant colors of the sunset kicked in; Bright fuchsia and orange against an indigo sky. You ran over, through foxtails and wild rose when you heard the shouts of a young man in the search party. What is he saying? The adrenaline in your body, and the bodies of those around you can be detected in the way that no one, except the main subject, is clearly in focus. You can see their expressions, though. Big wide grins, spread across amazed, amused, awe-struck faces. Wide open mouths and laughing visages pictured next to the weak smile on the found-mans face; illuminated by the beams of many disbelieving flashlights. One woman

covers her mouth in astonishment. One man is already bending over, fastening rope to the trunk of a tree. This man is the kind of person who is business-like even in the face of miracles. The found-man hangs by his pants, exhausted by the elements, thirst, hunger, fear, dread, humiliation; in a tree, whose roots grow out between the seams of rocks that form the edge of a small, steep canyon. It isnt very deep as canyons go, you realize, but the bottom is a good one-hundred feet down from where everyone stands in awe of this spectacle. He appears to have accidentally broken the branch that his cargo pants are snagged on. The majority of his weight is supported by the back waistband, just above his tailbone, making this the grandest wedgee of all time. His right leg is caught by an offshoot of the trunk, which pulls it up at an angle. He looks like an unwilling participant in an elementary school production of Peter Pan. Despite the youthful images his predicament brings to mind, the man, in his early forties every ordinary day of the week, now looks ten years older. His thirst has left him more than gaunt, more than leathered and grizzled; to you he looks nearly dead. His big teeth even bigger, his deep-set eyes sunk in even deeper, and both his large hands bloody from numerous and increasingly desperate attempts at escape. You figure he may have had one more night hanging there that way, like a grotesque meat ornament on a Halloween tree, smiling gruesomely at his saviors. In the left of the frame stand several horses, whose shining eyes can be seen through the trees. These horses spent four comfortable nights protected, in their stables, as

this man hung here in the tree wondering if he would ever see another meeting with his local chapter of AA. These horses were fed good alfalfa and clean water, as this man began hallucinating because of dehydration. These horses lay down each of those nights on beds of soft hay, while this man dozed off into delirium. Bats silently flew around him, trying to judge whether his heat might be from one of their own. You notice one alert Australian Shepherd standing in the middle of the frame, her body language pointed in the direction of the man hanging before her, tail a blur, but the dogs face is turned toward her masters. Shes looking to share her delight. She has probably only stopped weaving about the feet in the crowd for a single moment as your cameras shutter opens and closes. She spent the afternoon today and yesterday patrolling her familys yard, sleeping, barking, lapping up water from her bowl in the shade on the back step, curling at her masters feet, twitching as she dreamed of herding the sheep on the other side of the fence. She spent her day doing things she loves to do, as this man, cramped and aching swayed here, praying for this moment, praying for his life, for mercy and for forgiveness, and promising God impossible things. Things that now, as he knows he will live, he will have to rethink. Promises to quit drinking once and for all, even though it is his only true passion in life. Vows to love his wife more, worry her less, and to send her children more money. Vows to take his time on Earth more seriously and use it for something important. Vows to apologize to his brother for wrecking his car and never paying him back. Swearing to get a check-up every year and one at the dentist. Promises

not to get angry at his neighbors dog for barking at every little thing. Swearing to be kinder to his sisters husband, who makes more money than he does, drives a nicer car and wears clothes that his wife considers stylish. Promising to stop or cut back looking at porn on the Internet. Swearing hed keep the garage clean and finally landscape the yard the way his wife had been asking. Vowing to paint the house, and to take a vacation whenever he can save enough, instead of buying parts for his old Chrysler. Vowing also to finish that ancient car so he can enter it in the parade held every spring in Murphys. Which promises had he meant? Really meant. And which ones had he offered only out of desperation? You see your friend in the right hand corner of the composition, rushing toward the man, his arm outstretched holding a canteen full of good cold water. Two women behind him also come forward with similar items in their hands. One holds a jug, the other a bottle. This was water the man had dreamed of, and for which he had promised God he would live a better life should he ever feel liquid run past his tongue again. He prayed for rain, or floods, or friends bearing canteens, but he never thought he would have to make good on any of his promises, because this was not a moment he truly believed would come. After long hours spent alone, his first horse words offered to the gathered mass: Lord, I need a drink!

Chapter 6
Sometimes I think all my pictures are just pictures of me. My concern is the human predicament; only what I consider the human predicament may simply be my own. Richard Avedon

Like almost everything he owned Franks bicycle was an antique. He claimed in an interview in Art & Artist magazine that he stayed in shape by never driving to his studio. Lloyd told Mira that as Frank became more arthritic he used the bike to get to his studio more often than he walked there. It was a decent Schwinn with hardly any rust, but it weighed more than Mira, and her feet barely touched the pedals even after she lowered the seat as far as it would go. There was a basket on the back with a lid fastened down by a leather belt, in which she put her lunch, her camera, her wallet, and her keys. The lunch looked more like a snack: a few baby carrots, an apple, a store-bought blueberry bagel, and a hunk of cheddar cheese. It was refreshing to be out riding in the morning; peddling fast kept her thoughts from eddying down the drain of Art. Lately she hadnt been dwelling on him so much, but there were plenty of other denied longings to lament, such as the fact that Frank was never here to impart any of his expertise to her. Having never known him in the first place, she mourned the loss of the potential of that relationship more than for the man himself. His mentorship, like so many other experiences she had desired, was now unattainable. After riding around the two main blocks in town several times without finding the studio, Mira opted to stop and ask Bodey for directions. She hadnt seen him since the festival, but it turned out he wasnt working on this day anyway, so she had to ask the hotel manager instead. He was sitting behind the counter buffing his nails when she approached and smiled at him. He didnt bother to reciprocate. He was about her height and around her

age, but because of an unappealing pretension about him, at a glance he seemed older and smaller. The little man scowled at her query. You know this road were on as you come into town? Well, take that first right. Go down a little ways and take the second or third left. Its in one of those old houses down there. I think theres a sign out front, or something. Its not like there are so many houses on that street. You wont have any trouble finding it, unless youre an idiot. Thanks, she smiled disingenuously. Youre the one from New York, arent you? His question was almost accusatory. Yes. Im Mira. And you are she read his name tag. Allen. His countenance didnt soften for the introduction. I shouldnt be saying this but why would you ever want to stay here? he asked her. I came to work for Francis Bafflehaus. I know why you came, but hes dead. Why havent you gotten the hell out of here? Gone back to New York. Wouldnt you rather be there? Mira found herself stuttering, B-because I still have work here I need to do. He was buffing again. Hence needing directions to his studio. Right. She was eager to get back on her bike. Thanks, Allen. If you come to the river, youve gone too far, he called after her. Too far.

At the end of a short ride and a bit of backtracking she came to the river. This particular section had a grassy slope leading down to the waters edge. Across the river a thick layer of White Alder shaded the grass and revealed the slow moving river to be murky. Beyond where she held her bike on the lawn, Mira heard voices murmuring. Through the sweeping bangs of a willow she spotted a group settled on the grass by the water. A man stood in the current up to his waist. After some applause it was quiet and the people bowed their heads. The only sounds were from a pair of chickadees in the branches over the river. Bayley, why dont you be next to come down and ask the light of JesusChristourLordandSavior to enter your soul for e-tern-it-y, said the man in the water. A young girl in a flower-print dress and white sandals walked to the edge. This didnt seem to be her idea. She nervously looked back at the assembly, in particular an older woman in the crowd wearing the same print. Timidly she put the tip of one sandaledfoot in to the river. You want to wear those? Take em off? Its a teensy bit rocky, but Ill have ahold of you, the pastor reassured her. Bayley looked to the older woman again, who gestured for her to go on ahead, and then she un-strapped the sandals. Eventually she had to sit down on the grass to get them off and still the onlookers remained focused. Lets get on with it. Mira was anxious to get a

picture of the girl stepping into the water. When Bayley finally did go in her dress bubbled around her middle like an inner tube, and with a giggle she forced the air out with her hands. The Pastor spoke with reverence. Do you accept Gods truth? On this day are you prepared to let the love of our savior, Jesus Christ, work his miracles in your life? The girl nodded. You are one of Gods creations and now when Jesus descends upon this Earth in rapture he will recognize you as a member of his cherished flock. Bayley nodded again and pinched her nose with two fingers, as the man put an arm around her waist and a hand behind her head. May you now be cleansed of all your Earthly sins. He dipped her in a way that would have impressed Mira on a dance floor. The girl came up with sopping hair but managed a smile. That water is full of crap, shes got to be dying for a shower. The water made the girls dress transparent, so Mira turned her camera off. When Mira finally rode away she found the studio almost immediately. The street wasnt as shady as the riverbank. The studio looked pretty much like any of the other houses along the way. It had a long front porch and a rocking chair next to a wicker tea table, a boot scraper, and a few ferns in ceramic pots that were on their way out. The only thing differentiating it from the other houses on that street was that it had gold letters painted in on the window glass: Bafflehaus Studios. She parked her bike at the bottom of the stairs, where she had no idea Frank had parked that very bike many times before her. She sat down on the steps next to a wreath of desiccated flowers left in memoriam, in order

to sort through a large fob of keys. She found one labeled STUD with a sharpie pen. Still sitting there, staring out at the house across the street and the low-lying hills in the distance, she breathed in the smell of lavender growing in great bunches around the front of the porch. The bushes were so thick they almost obscured the lattice put there to hide the underbelly of the house. She was nervous about going inside. What if theres a dead rat on the floor? What if there is an overwhelming amount of work? What if there isnt any work at all? Am I ready to go home? Why wasnt Art interested in me? What could I have done differently, or better, to win him over? Then she imagined kneeing him hard in the balls. She tried to smile but it came out like a snarl. Never in her life had she had so much time think, and to hear her own questions so clearly. It was the first time she realized how much she had always welcomed distraction. Once inside the studio, there were no creaky doors, cobwebby corners, or animal infestations of any kind. In fact, an appointment book showed that Frank had used the building as recently as the month before and there was one appointment listed for yesterday and another for next week. Apparently he liked to work on Mondays. The place was well furnished and there were cameras set up in each room indicating that the whole house had been used for a backdrop. Each area had a luminous quality and she could see why Frank had famously loved this place as a portrait studio. Light bounced off gleaming hardwood floors, against antique mirrors, through foggy glass lamps, and into rich velvet upholstery. The back room was set up as a boudoir, with a four-

poster bed and a velvet bedspread over peach satin sheets that reminded Mira of oiled skin. One room was a library with shelves full of books and a heavy teakwood desk. There were two sitting rooms, one furnished with a brocade divan and matching wing-back chair, the other with a leather sofa and love seat, an end table on which sat a lamp with a mica shade; a baby grand piano in the largest room still held a glass vase full of green water and brown leaves, a ring of dry petals encircling its base. The kitchen had been converted into a dark room that Mira entered through a rotating light-safe door. It was the most glorious space she had seen in the house so far, fully stocked with unmixed chemicals. It was outfitted with one Besseler and one Omega enlarger, on the latter of which sat a huge 20 by 24 Saunders easel. When he wanted anything printed larger than that, she could see that he would tape his photo paper to the wall and project one of the enlargers at it. There were various dimensions denoted there with permanent marker. She snapped pictures of it for documentary purposes- possibly to go on a blog she was thinking about starting. Back in the living room, she opened the French doors into the yard behind the studio. An ivy-covered wall that had served well for many portraits stood behind four wrought iron chairs and a table on a brick patio. Everything was dappled by light filtering through a line of birch trees that ringed the yard. Back inside, a staircase led Mira to the cramped second floor and the sizeable stash of photographic work that she and the museum had been hoping for. Except for one row of

light tables, the two rooms were full of camera equipment and boxes upon boxes of prints, proofs, negatives, contact sheets, and test strips. She looked at two prints sitting on top of one stack. They were buddy-images of a stereographic portrait, held together with a binder clip, showing a middle-aged woman sitting primly behind the piano downstairs with a lamp glowing in the background. Mira held them up a few inches from her face and felt suddenly engulfed in the scene. That had been Franks goal any time he took a three-dimensional portrait. He wanted to put you right there next to the people you were gazing at and he didnt seem to mind making viewers uncomfortable. Mira sat the pictures down when she began to feel the woman aware of her gaze. On a light-table near the wall a set of negatives sheathed in plastic drew Miras attention. She switched on the light and put the magnifying glass over the exposure circled in a ring of black ink. It was an arresting image of someone in a dark veil, sitting on the precipice of a skyscraper. For the entire circumference of the room there were stereoscopic cameras, view cameras, field cameras, reflectors, umbrellas, bellows, and fill lights mounted on sturdy tripods. An old secretary in the corner was covered with papers including a record book on top of which lay a strange pair of glasses. The lenses had been painted with photosensitve emulsion and then printed on each side with the picture of an eye. They were a mans eyes, most likely Franks and because they werent printed on paper the areas that would be white were transparent against the glass. Under the glasses, folded like a note, was some

kind of a bulleted list.

Before Baptism: save be saved forgive feel fury joy humility love sense mystery be terrified brave stupid honest avert death thrice bleed importantly let go of something cherished and something hated be intoxicated and sober release frustration

meet with confusion experience passion have curiosity satisfied allow sorrow give in to despair embrace hope

On the wall next to the door was a row of hooks with hats hanging from them. Mira had been without her own hat since the night of the festival. Now she tried on a beret of sapphire felt. No mirror. She snatched the other two hats off their hooks and walked to a window in shade so she could see her reflection. The beret looks good, but there isnt much use in wearing a hat that provides no protection from the sun and wont hide your hair when you need it to. In the street beyond her reflection, she watched the baptismal group filling the sidewalks as they wandered to their cars. She tried on the second hat, a blue leather trilby with a brim the color of milk chocolate. This one looked so nice she didnt bother trying on the messy canvas panama still in her hand. Now I have a bike and a hat. Thanks, Frank. She remembered the smoky mirror downstairs and rushed to see what she looked like in it. A little girl was standing in the back-doorway and startled Mira when she reached the bottom of the stairs. Hello! Mira said surprised. The girl barely smiled back. Were

you at the baptism? The girl nodded but she wasnt the least bit wet. The child, with short hair and a green cotton dress looked down at her feet as Mira spoke to her, Do you like my hat? The girl looked up then and nodded her solemn approval. They stood there for a moment before the girl pointed to something happening outside behind Mira. Mira turned to see an old man peeking inside her bike basket. What-the-fuck? She and the little girl ran to the front door and Mira swung it open with flourish. The man pretended he hadnt been rifling through her things. She and the girl looked at each other, both unsure of what to do. He waved to them and the girl waved back. They know each other? Do you know that man? Mira felt inert as they watched him waddle out of sight. Only then did she march down the steps to roll the bike around back. She checked inside the basket to make sure everything was there. When she got back inside she wanted to ask the girl again who the man was, but the girl had already gone. At around noon Mira ate her apple and cheese at the table in the backyard while she flipped through an old Rolling Stone from the studio library. The contributors page was flagged and on it was Frank Bafflehaus standing next to his famous double-view camera, a treasured piece of equipment Mira had read about before. At the time this particular article was written there were no manufacturers that made a comparable stereoscopic camera, so Frank bought two of his favorite large format cameras and bolted them to a wooden

platform with their lenses spaced two and a half inches apart, the same distance as human eyes. Then he rigged the triggers so he could activate both cameras at exactly the same instant. He called it Imago Dei, which was Latin for Image of God. With it he could take pictures so life-like they made the viewer shudder, and hypnotized them right into the scene. To make the experience even more surreal, most of the time he blew up the twin exposures to the actual-size of the subjects, or larger. Reviewers of his work have often claimed to tremble at the haunting quality of the pictures. As a child Mira saw Francis Bafflehauss photographs in books and on posters as singles, but it wasnt until art school when she visited some of them on exhibit and stood before a pair of actual prints, larger than life, mounted on the wall precisely. She placed her toes on the stripe of blue tape marking the spot, and peered through the viewer mounted in front of and just below her. She stared, astounded by the elegant images themselves; this one taken in the late 1940s, trees overhanging a bumpy road that curved slightly to the left, sun breaking through the leaves, showing their veins in varying degrees of intensity; a young woman on a bicycle, her hair perfectly pinned but the front of her dress missing every other button; in the basket in front of her sits a white cat with a frayed bow around its neck, seemingly content to be riding there. Her bike leans left, negotiating the arc of the road, shes balanced in front of the viewer and heading right out of her life and into your lap. Further behind her a man wearing pleated knickers and tall boots is walking with a cane in the same direction, hes almost disappearing in the dust kicked up by the girls tires,

which creates a haze of floating tufts that soften some of the details of the scene. Mira had finally let her eyes get lost, and for an instant she had experienced the three-dimensional effect; Her breath was absent and all she heard was the soft rushing of blood behind her eardrums, which she took to be the wind through the spokes of the bike wheels. Literally, she had to sit down. The second her eyes had adjusted to blend the two images into one it was like someone had taken a vacuum to her lungs. The effect was so mesmerizing she had a physical sense of being somewhere she was not. The issue of Rolling Stone that pictured Imago Dei was dated October 1973, and Franks hair was long and already completely gray; he had it combed back behind his ears. He wore a heavy cable-knit sweater and sunglasses. The blurb under his picture read, One of this months contributing photographers, Francis Maxwell Bafflehaus, gained popularity in 1962 when he applied his three-dimensional work to a beatnik style. He favors the use of black and white photography. A native of Philadelphia he now resides in Northern California with his son and daughter. His photo shoot with The Yardbirds can be seen on p.24-27 of this months issue. Now armed with a picture, she took the magazine with her upstairs to see if she could locate the famous double view camera. It would be an important part of the exhibition if it was still around. Almost like folk art, she could envision it on center display at the museum, encased in glass on all sides, a spotlight fixed perfectly to add the right amount of drama.

Around her in the half light, prints of Bafflehauss famous subjects, some living, some now dead, loomed at her from where they were pinned haphazardly to the walls. She was uneasy in this part of the house. The evening gloam was growing, and it was a relief to find nothing other than cameras under the white sheets draped to protect equipment from dust. No Imago Dei. Guess its time to go home! But she didnt really want to go home either. There was nowhere she really wanted to be right now, except away from herself. Her existence in New York City had moved so fast she barely had time to live it. Most days there she felt like she was stepping onto a crowded subway train in the morning and never fully emerging until it was time to sleep. However, this life in Vanishing River was unbearably slow. Every thought that came into her head lingered there, demanding her attention. She covered up the cameras by weighing down the edges of their big sheets with river rocks left for that purpose. That was when she froze, hearing someone let themselves in through the front door downstairs. She hadnt heard the old pick-up pull up in front of the house, but now she noticed it out the window. The persons footsteps on the first floor were unhesitant. She had a New York instinct not to go down there, but decided against letting fear dictate her actions when she was out in California, especially since she was the one who was now officially in-charge of this place. Hoping not to startle the person by suddenly clomping downstairs, she called out in a pleasant a voice, Helloo, Ill be right down! the heavy footfall stopped abruptly at the sound of her voice, but resumed after a

second. By the time she reached the first floor, a bedraggled man was already rifling through cupboards. He looked emaciated, wearing a mullet and thin blue t-shirt with greasy spots on the belly. Who the hell are you? he rudely boomed, out of place in such a quiet space; and he didnt seem interested in her answer. Mira noticed he was missing a couple of teeth from the top row, and his hands were yellow-stained and callused. Im Mira Dillen. I work for Francis Bafflehauss estate. Big shit, he fulminated, Im his son. He had his own fob of keys that were mostly smaller than Miras, and he began maniacally forcing one after another into the locks on a bank of storage cabinets by the darkroom. Mira was stiff at the bottom of the stairs watching him, close enough to detect the stench of his body odor, heavy and sour. Go back to whatever you were doin, he ordered her in a condescending way, and then with greater intensity, Ill be outta here in a few minutes, if I can find the right fuckin key! He was going through them faster and faster, and beginning to fumble. Ehhr! he growled and then dropped the fob on the floor. It was then Mira noticed a small hand-axe leaning against the wall behind him, which hadnt been there that afternoon. After scooping the keys up in one hand he threw the empty fist up and with the meat on the side of his palm, hammered on the cabinet with full force, and this time he roared. His roar was so alarming that Mira started mentally planning an escape.

The front door was closed and she would have to come in pretty close proximity to him in order to get to it. Her eyes darted for objects that could be used as weapons. Going back upstairs was not an option. She would get trapped up there and lessen her chances of escape. She thought about making a run out the back door, but would have to wait for the right moment, since he was blocking that route by where he stood. There was an audible click when he found the right key, and whatever it was he was searching for, Mira was almost glad hed found it. She heard him heave something out. Got what I needed. Smirking like a skeleton, he hurried past her carrying Imago Dei in both arms and straining under its weight. There it was, the very camera she too had been searching for! Motionless, she watched as he loaded it with surprising gentleness, into the passenger seat of his pick-up. The trucks flywheel almost didnt catch, but then the car sputtered to a start and jerked away from the curb. She dialed 911. The dispatcher answered. 911, whats your emergency? Theres been a robbery at the Bafflehaus Studios in Vanishing River. Are you in any danger, Mam? I dont think so, but the robber is fleeing! He stole something and hes fleeing! Hes fleeing! Mam, can I get your name please? And the number of the phone you are calling from, in case we get disconnected.

Mira Dillen she said as evenly as she could and looked at the plastic plate on the phone to read the number. Thank you. Has he stolen a vehicle, Mam? No, hes stolen a valuable antique! A camera; Its of historical significance! But, I can describe his vehicle! Blue truck. Little truck, blue. Older model. Mam, Im going to dispatch an officer to the scene who is currently in a town near yours. Can you describe the vehicle to me again? The dispatcher spoke in the same irritatingly calm and measured tone she probably used for non-emergencies. Yes, it was a small light blue pick-up truck. The first things in the license plate were 7ZA. It was driven by a white male in his mid to late thirties, wearing a blue t-shirt and blue jeans. Missing a few teeth, too. His name is Jeremy Bafflehaus, and I may be able to supply a picture of him. Mam I am going to put out an APB on the description of that vehicle in your area. Please confirm your location. The voice sounded sing-songy like a recording. Im on a street in Vanishing River. Im not sure which one. Its the first right as you come into town, then the second left and its about the fourth house down. Ok, Mam, you are on Live Oak Street, in Vanishing River at the Bafflehaus Studios? Is this correct? Yes. When will the officer arrive? Mam, it should take him approximately twenty-five to thirty minutes to arrive.

Mira exhaled sickly. Jeremy would be long gone to some pawnshop by then. No sooner? No Mam, said the abnormally calm voice. Ok. Ill wait, I guess. Her eyes went to the axe leaning against the wall and she felt a chill. You may want to wait outside the residence- or try not to touch anything that would be disturbing evidence. Good advice, Mira said. Thank you.

Pacing uneasily, wondering what she could have done differently, Mira thought about how disappointed and ashamed Art would be when he found out that she stood by and did nothing while one of the most valuable pieces of memorabilia in the estate disappeared into the hands of a junkie. All the times she had ever failed at anything came flooding into her mind. Failure Mira thought, is becoming a given. This was my fault. I didnt lock the front door, or the back, even after the little girl let herself in. Ive been careless and nave, and so have those who foolishly gave me any responsibility. Art was right. I cant handle this, or many other simple tasks. I feel like crying in pity for my own lack of competence, but I know the cops will arrive any minute so I have to maintain composure. Composure! And then it occurred to her that if she didnt solve this, and Jeremy sold the camera to an unknown buyer, she would be responsible and Art would be

right about her after all. Fuck Art. Perhaps Jeremy had as much right to the camera as Mira did. She needed to call Willy Laloon whose card was in her wallet. She ran out to her bike in the backyard and opened the basket. When she didnt see the wallet at first she had a twinge of regret. Where the hell do I think I am? Why didnt I bring it inside, like I would have done back home? Jeez, back home I wouldnt have even let it leave my person. She pulled out her camera along with the bag of baby carrots that rolled out and scattered on the pavement, then stared into the emptied basket, waiting for the wallet to appear. There was still a bagel in there which she threw to the ground. Damnit, old man! Im such a moron! Ive never had to admit it like this until now, but what the hell was I thinking? And why didnt I notice it was gone sooner? I cant report two separate unrelated thefts in the same afternoon! I had to come out to the sticks to be robbed for the first time in my life! Excuse me, first times, plural! Inside, the phone at the desk by the entryway rang. Instead of answering it, she wanted to hide from all of this. Now tears had welled and their inevitable arrival came as sort of a relief. She was able to answer the phone. Theyve got him, she whispered to herself as her hand went to the receiver. Hello? Miss Dillen? This is Central Dispatch of Calaveras County calling to let you know that the officer sent to your location has been delayed.

Delayed? When will he get here!? Mam, it looks like the officer will arrive in approximately one hour. An hour! Dont you have anyone else? Mira locked the front door while she was standing near it. Im getting smarter by the minute apparently. Lock the door, Mira what a fucking genius thought. No Mam. All local officers were called to an emergency situation. More of an emergency than this? Yes Mam. Any situation where there are po-tentially lives endangered takes precedence. I apologize for any inconvenience, mam. What is so much more of an emergency than this? Mam, I do not have that author-i-zation to tell you that. The dispatcher got off the line. Mira took a few calming breaths which didnt calm her. She was repentant. You fucked this shit up yo, and now you have to fix it Where is that old man? She locked all the doors to the studio, and wearing her new trilby, left in search of her wallet. The old man was on foot, so that would be the best way to find him. She racewalked in the direction she saw him go. That old bastard! A few houses down, a middle-aged man in an inexpensive suit carried a few bags of groceries from his car. Excuse me, sir? Theres an elderly man who lives in this neighborhood. Some

where here, anyway. There were corn flakes and lemons threatening to burst through the silvery plastic skin of one of the bags. Well, theres more than one old guy like that in this neighborhood. This one was tall, kinda hunched over, wore sort of a blazer, with like a plaid pair of pants? Bushy eyebrows? The man flexed his own average-sized eyebrows to illustrate the point. He was out walking by himself right? Yes, he was. Sounds like an old guy who lives over there on the next street, hes out walking quite a bit; Sisters supposed to be taking care of him, but. That has to be him. Where is that? Next street over, the man said. They got a village in the yard. You wont miss it. Thank you! she said gratefully. On a mission, and practically sprinting she goaded herself on. You let this happen, Mira. Now you fix it! There certainly was a little village in the yard, it was instantly fascinating but she had no time to appreciate it. She rushed to the front door of the house and banged hard with her knuckles, not sure what she would say when it opened, or even if this was the place she needed to be. Her heart pounded from the walk and the adrenaline. She knocked again. No

one answered, which only increased her nervousness. She knocked again. I have to get my wallet back. She knocked a third time. Please, please, please, please, please. No answer. It looked dark around the side of the house. Mira peered into the yard and for a moment allowing her self to be captivated by the diminutive buildings arranged carefully on low, grass-covered hillocks. A thin artificial creek trickled between small fences and under tiny bridges that looked like they could support a miniature car. The setting sun cast just enough light on the little town to make it appear real, as if one was looking down at a real town from an airplane. The wooden, tissue-box sized homes were detailed and sturdy looking. Each was crafted differently from the next, and all were meticulously painted. They had real glass in the widows, living plants in tiny pots on tiny porches in miniscule front yards. Who has time for this? Incredible! She had to get back to the studio immediately. She was turning to leave when her eyes fell on the entrance to a teeny cathedral. Every other building was closed tight, but the doors of the cathedral were wedged open in a messy way that attracted her peripheral vision. Her astonishment burst out in the high-pitched Huh? of sudden awareness. No way! The corner of her wallet was protruding from the church doors. She looked left, and then right, down the length of the street. No one was around; Stealthily she entered the yard through a gate with an almost impossible latch and coaxed her wallet out of a threshold the size of a fist. That old bastard. What the hell? Willy Laloon got to the studio before the police. He lived a few miles from

Vanishing River on some acreage where he kept cattle. He wasnt married and had no children. As a Miwok, his tribe, as well as his clients were like his family, and unfortunately for him in this case so were his clients children like his own. He must have been working outside when Mira called him, and he emerged from his car in dirty jeans and work boots, followed by his dog, a wolf hybrid he had rescued from an animal shelter in Angels Camp. Sequoias a hunter, and a lot smarter than most of the people I know, He explained. In fact the dog seemed to require a more or less formal introduction and would only sit at-ease after Mira had acknowledged him by name. Willy told the story about when Sequoia was a pup, just old enough to be outside alone; he had come up with an insightful way to hunt. What he would do was carry mouths full of kibble outside and drop them in a pile next to a rabbit hole. The dog was never interested in gophers or mice or anything so small. Only rabbits. He was steadfast for as long as it took the rabbits to become curious about the aroma wafting into their den. Sometimes it took ten minutes, sometimes an hour. He was willing to wait as long as it took. As soon as a rabbit emerged far enough to be mostly outside the hole Sequoia would lunge and take the rabbit, always leaving his catch on the back porch steps as an offering to his master. The dogs eyes were a startling blue with a human quality that made many people uneasy. The dog stared through Mira as his master spoke and when it was time to go inside the dog naturally went first to secure the building.

Willy didnt ask Mira many questions about what had happened. He was mostly interested in the condition of Franks son who had failed to make an appearance at his fathers funeral. So do you think he doesnt know about his dads death? she asked. Willy leaned forward on the piano bench and supported his head with one hand, his elbow on his knee. Hard to say. But, Im very concerned about some other things at this moment. I know, Mira said guiltily. Do you think hell sell it to a pawn shop? Or do you think he already has a buyer lined up? Like a private citizen collector type-situation? Like a black market kind of thing? Willy shook his head dismissively. By the way Ive been holding onto an envelope I found in Franks house. It says Will on it. Willy came to attention. Oh? I can come by and get it later. But dont worry about the camera. Well get that back. Im not worried about that But its Imago Dei! Mira looked at her watch. Where the hell are the fucking police? The camera is like any object, we can buy that back, no problem. If it involves money, it can be fixed. It is Jeremy himself of course, I am concerned about. Of course, of course. Of course!

The land will be what he tries to hawk next, Im afraid. Willy sucked air through his pursed lips. He rubbed his chin hard with one hand. It is not officially our land yet. You see weve been struggling since the eighties to become officially recognized as a tribe in California. The BIA is not willing to become involved yet. In the fifties they terminated the Miwok as a federally recognized nation. They havent always been our advocates; Just the opposite in fact. If we were already recognized before then we would be given at least a portion of our ancestral land by the state. It takes a lot of time and a lot of money to make that happen. I specialize in environmental and Indian litigation and I donate my services, my time etcetera, but there is no money So, to this day we stand without the abilities to regain the land of our forefathers and mothers. So then the festival was kind of? Premature. Willy got up as a police car pulled in front of the house. Least we raised a little money. The Jeremy you described is not the one I once knew. It sounds as if this one is no longer respectful of sacred objects, or spaces. If he is this desperate for money for drugs, whatever, then stewardship of his fathers land will mean nothing to him. This is why I worry. Mira wiped her palms on the back pockets of her jeans and went to open the door for the single policeman standing outside. Cares for nothing, she heard Willy mumble indignantly. A photo from the wall upstairs helped Mira provide positive identification of the

suspect. The cop carefully took the hand-axe for evidence. This is as recent a picture as I can find of him at the moment, but he looked much older than this- Beard and missing a few teeth now, she pointed to the top row of her own, Right here. She spoke to the officer who was wearing a uniform so well fitted that it invited Mira to visualize him without it. You say missing teeth? the officer queried. Did he seem aggravated? Excessively aggravated? Mira nodded ardently. The officer asked, Did you notice if he scratched his skin a lot; seemed itchy? Willy and the dog stood together, listening as Miras eyes scanned the room and her memory. Yeah. He had some sores I guess. The officer nodded knowingly and looked toward Willy. Meth, Willy confirmed, and he and the officer were in reluctant agreement. Thats most likely the case, said the handsome police officer. Big problem around here. He dusted the cabinets for a set of prints. Damnit! Willy said, slamming his fist into his hand. Hell end up in jail, if thats the case. The officer concurred, Only if hes lucky.

Chapter 7
A picture is the expression of an impression. If the beautiful were not in us, how would we ever recognize it? -- Ernst Haas

Hiking from behind Big Lous house was a different experience than starting out from her own. Mira had asked him once if he knew of any beautiful trails to walk and of course he did, but had hesitated to respond, not wanting his favorite places overrun with people. People? she asked. Who do I know? It was not far, and they werent in a hurry, so they started slowly late one Saturday afternoon. The bottom of the grade was steep and they first had to negotiate a belt of foothill chaparral and a culvert before the trail leveled out at the half-way point, and then they had to wind around the back of the hill. This is the best time to go at sundown like this, he told her. Its the time when you see the most wildlife. The trail meandered between Lodgepole and Sugar pine on a path well padded with decaying pine needles and moss. At one point they had to fight through cobwebs and fallen branches to make their way. Dont come up here much? she wondered out loud. Oh I do. Just take different routes each time. Dont like to create a track. See? See

here? This is what I was talking about. He pointed to a paw print in a patch of hardened mud. Coyote, he said. Whoa. You havent heard them howling at night? No. Are we going to see a coyote or something? Probably not, but we can hope. Nothing to be afraid of. Theyre curious of people sometimes. Taking switchbacks down the back of the hill toward a stagnant blue-green pond, Big Lou explained how this had been a mining operation about a hundred years before. They clear cut the mountainside and then mined it hydraulically, washed out tons of soil searching for gold. The process had left a crater that now served as a watering hole. Theres a pack of coyotes come here to drink. I seen about fifteen of them at one time. You heard any stories about Coyote? he asked. Well, theyre omnivores, I know that. Dont know why I know that. Related to dogs, right? Pack animals. Whatever, I dont know that much about them. Big Lou crushed some pine needles in his hand. I have a story for you, passed down through the generations of my family. Ok, you have Coyote and you have Falcon. Falcon asked Coyote to create human beings. Coyote tells him that it will be a lot of work, and Falcon tells them to go ahead. So Coyote goes to the ground and simulates a dead body.

What? Are we talking about people or animals? Wait to the end for questions. Itll make sense at the end. There are no people yet. Before people; So Coyote lays there until the crows and the buzzards find him and they start to peck at his side. Remember hes not really dead. Hes tricky. Big Lou tapped the air with a finger. He waits until theyve made a huge hole in his side then he catches them inside the hole and closes it. Ok? No, Mira said as she sniffed the fragrant needles in Big Lous wide palm. But go ahead. He takes them back to Falcon and together they pluck the birds. He cant just carry the birds back, but he can pluck them? I said to hold the questions, please young lady. Its not as important how he gets the birds. Ok? So, Coyote orders Falcon to scatter all the feathers on every hill, in every valley, on riverbanks. Everywhere. The crow feathers will become the common people and the buzzard feathers will become the chiefs. Coyote also names all the places, and the next day there are people in every place where Falcon put a feather. Now, Coyote says, there are all these new people, so we can now go back to being the animals. And as he said it, it became true. That is where the Creators remain today, as animals around us. Birds, mammals, fish. Every animal has its story, and that is why most people relate to a different animal. The animals are the same stock we all came from. Hmm. Do you have an animal?

Im still figuring that out. But, I do like Coyote, actually. I think he might be mine. In our culture he is a revered animal. Hes funny, you know, because he messes up all the time. People can laugh at him, but its healthy to do that. Thats how we learn. We need someone who has our own worst qualities so we can look at him instead of ourselves and laugh or be angry, but we have to learn from him too. Its not just lessons, like stories, that make us learn. Its embarrassment and disgust as well. We can tell stories about Coyotes foolishness and people listen because they can relate. Hes gluttonous, a liar, an outlaw, a letch. He loves food and sex and pranks. They call him Trickster. Thats me, Im a trickster. Hes a wanderer and a thief, but also the Creator, as in the story I just told you. You see, you have to be humble if youre going to be the creator and a clown at the same time. He makes more of an impact on the good of man this way. Shows us our human condition so we can see ourselves for what we are, and still be proud. He laughs at himself and never gives up even though he fails constantly. Hes clever and risky and cunning, creative, outrageous! Like me. I would not recommend him to everyone however. Coyote is a rascal, you know? If you listen to the stories about him carefully he can be looked at as why our world is in such pain today. He has to get his nose into everything because its there and he can, an opportunist, like man- but he doesnt know best. No one should try to be a coyote. If youre a coyote, you suffer life. He is too much of the earth and of reality to be full of joy like a sparrow, or a meadowlark or someone like that; Carefree like that. He

isnt really carefree because hes always scheming, just like man. You know people are always scheming for something better than they already have, trying to change the rules and divert history, just like coyote. Maybe if another animal had created man wed be better off. But still, thats my animal. A clever, divine fool. Mira now had her own handful of crushed pine needles. I wonder what animal I am? A sparrow, I think. Id like to be a sparrow for sure. Cute and delicate, right? But tough. She clenched her fists. Persistent buggers. Ive seen them in the wind, trying to get to their nest. They dont give up, even thought theyre very very small. They have real confidence, for a bird. Big Lou was quiet. Mira kicked at the dirt with the toe of her boot. No? Not a sparrow?... A crow then, huh? Im something more ordinary like that. A crow is not ordinary by any means. That is a smart bird who knows better than most how to survive. They may not be beautiful, but they are resourceful, strong, resilient. The crow is a special bird. Yeah. You might be a crow. But, I liked the sparrow. He said, I like the sparrow too, but I think you might be a coyote like me.

That Sunday morning, like every other Sunday since coming to Vanishing River, Mira slept through the church bells sounding over town. It was a quaint interruption to her

slumber that never seemed to grow into a full-blown annoyance. The pastor at the church was said to be very charismatic and gave sermons his parishioners remembered for years afterward. In fact, it was rumored he entertained ambitions of becoming a televangelist, and many in the church believed he could do it. Wanted him to; Hoped he would. Thought he had what it took. They wanted it like he did and some of them even envisioned Vanishing River as the next Heritage USA. A great number of people convened regularly for his Sunday service that the program had to be held in a multi-purpose room adjacent to the chapel. This made Sunday a big day for Anitas Diner, and Burgers and Frosties, which supposedly opened early to catch the overflow crowd for breakfast. Who has a frosty for breakfast? A favorite weekend indulgence of Miras had always been ice cream and she had foregone it on Saturday to walk with Big Lou instead. Now she rode her bike through town, passing the parked cars of church goers that lined every street. Besides her, there didnt seem to be anyone outside. On her way she took the envelope she found in Franks den and squeezed it through the mail slot of Willys office door. She found out from him later that it was a will Frank had written by himself, stipulating that his land be left to his son, as Willy had bargained. Satisfied shed done a good deed, Mira proceeded to Burgers and Frosties, which was open as promised, but there were no cars in the parking lot. Maybe one scoops ones own ice cream on a day like today. Inside, she was surprised to see Alfonso sitting alone at

a booth hunched over a banana split and a copy of USA Today. Hola, Mira! he called to her. Please sit. She obliged. We have to stop meeting like this. People will talk. Theyre already saying we share an addiction to ice cream. His Yankees cap, once her Yankees cap, was on the seat next to him, reminding her to take her own hat, once Franks hat, and put it on the seat beside her. Youre not in church? I thought for sure I would be the only one in this place. Nope He folded the newspaper and pushed it toward the salt and pepper. The crossword puzzle was facing upward and Mira couldnt help but began solving some of the clues in her head. You see I am a religious man, but I dont go into those places, Alfonso explained. The people here I think, look down on me because of it, but that doesnt bother me. Let them see I do not attend their church. He held up both arms, gesturing to the room. But, there was no one there except the two of them and an employee. They can see me, I dont care. Me too, Mira smiled. Do you have a pen? Sunday is for sundaes. Right? He never looked away from her as he spoke. A pen? For the puzzle? Oh, Im sorry, did you want to do it? No, no, he said. You may do it.

Used to make myself do the one in the New York Times almost every day when I was growing up. Really, Mira? Uh huh, She said. The one in this paper is totally easy compared to that. I kinda thought I was sick of them, but well maybe it reminds me of home. His stare momentarily distracted her from the puzzle and after a while she wasnt so much listening to him as she was watching him speak. Those friggin lips! She studied his eyes in an attempt to memorize the darker flecks and imperfections; His eyes seemed huge with their calming effect on her. They are discerning eyes. He asked, Are you homesick? Yes, very. Surprisingly. Maybe a little. Me too Will you order? It is my turn for buying, remember? Oh, thats all right. You do owe me one, though dont you? He stood up. Ill place your order. What would you like? Hmm, she contorted her mouth, thinking. Same as the last time? he offered. Okay, she replied. Should be interesting to see what I end up with. Gumballs. Clement would like that. He came back with a chocolate soft-serve dipped in fudge, and a pen. He remembered.

I dont think Im going to do the puzzle. Im talking with you. Thats better. Please, he told her, take it with you then. I dont really want to carry it all the way home. I dont need it. I dont even like them anymore. It was like an obsession. Its not healthy for me to take it. He folded it so he could carry it for her. She said, No, dont. Please. Youre drawing my attention to it now. Im going to start to obsessing it. Then youre doing that to yourself. That is something Art would say. Ill just solve it real quick. She was already through the first few clues in her head. He ate his ice cream and read the financial section while she solved most of the puzzle. As they got up, he tore out the nearly finished crossword, folded it, and stored it in his breast pocket, leaving the rest of the paper behind.

The bike chain clicked like a metronome as Alfonso rode slowly beside Mira. You said you were homesick? she asked him. Where are you from exactly? Oaxaca, he said. But, I was schooled in Mexico City. Oaxacan, huh? I have a friend who was there for a little while. Where in Oaxaca are you from?

It is just a small place. Bigger than this though, but a small place. She asked, Whats it called? Alfonsos legs were long enough for him to drag his feet on the ground. It is called Mitla. Mira was astounded. She knew of it from Arts pictures of his trip as a kid and she had remembered the name because it sounded to her a little like Mira. She felt the nervous energy of destiny bursting in her chest, but her gut advised her to keep it casual. I know of the place, she said calmly. Too casual! He wont believe it. Maybe hell think Im a stalker. How else would I happen to know of that place? No you dont! he was equally astonished, but unable to hide it. Be cool. I do. Theres like a cathedral built on top of some ancient ruins, right? Its a very architectural place very like, spiritual. Am I getting this? And theres like a nice outdoor market in the town. The ruins are outside of town. Here heart was racing. Alfonsos mouth hung open. You know it! You have been there? No, no, she corrected. I havent been there, but Ive looked at a lot of pictures of it and heard about it. I feel like I have been there almost. But, I havent actually- my friend was the one. He pedaled ahead of her a few yards and stopped. You are the first person I have met in this country that knows of the place I am from. She walked toward him, letting it be quiet. He looked so satisfied that she felt she

might cackle. Instead she flirted, Maybe its a sign we should be friends. We are friends, he replied, then asked Do you believe in signs? She said, Sure, but wasnt really sure. Not all signs are for good things, he said solemnly. I know. So I guess, no. I dont really believe in them then. She had finally caught up to him the road. Amazing that you know Mitla. He was shaking his head. Well, like I said I havent been there, but yeah. I know it. Such a religious place and you dont attend church? Not here. But, I study the bible every day. A person can know Jesus without going to a church. He held out his long finger, You see, the people here believe that they can do whatever they want all during the week, and then attend church on the weekend and ask forgiveness of God, and consider themselves good people. All week you can speak cruelly to your wife, belittle your children, lock up the dog, steal money but confess your sins and say your prayers on Sunday? All is cleaned away. He made a surfing gesture. Does that sound uneconomical to you? No not economical, I mean, how should I say? inequitable. It is inequitable to me. I know not everyone attending church is this way, but the ones who do what Im talking about hide among those who are really there. They are trying to be good by association. So do you believe in good and evil? Like heaven and hell, and all that? Mira

asked wondering about things much deeper. Of course, and Gods judgment. But that judgment is based on the way a person lives their life, not even if they praise Him or pray to Him. If a person is good, an honorable person, they will go to heaven regardless of their religion. If they are innocent, like a newborn, they will go- baptized or not. But doesnt it sound a little cartoon-ish? Heaven and all that, and hell with the fire and brimstone and the devil with hooves? I dont know. Fairy tale-ish sounding I guess. Her heart was beating hard. Miras grandmother once told her never to discuss religion with people who didnt believe in the same things as you. It made sense that the old woman would make such a decree as she was known to have said horrible things about her own neighbors who happened to be Jewish. She complained, Their people killed Jesus. How could you discuss anything with people like that? She called them misers. Said it was in their blood that they wanted to keep it all for themselves. Keep what Grandma? Mira couldnt believe anyone would actually hold these beliefs, much less someone she knew. Everything, her grandmother said. They just want it all and never to share. How could she expect them to be her friends and still be heard saying those things? These were same neighbors who eventually bought her grandmothers house from the courts so that she could stay there during her waning years. Unfortunately this only served to confirm her suspicions about them. She said she only continued to live there out of spite,

and that it was charitable of her to thank them for what they had done. Alfonso continued, Well, the way I believe is that if you lived your life well, you will still go to heaven even if you didnt believe in it when you were alive. It says in Proverbs 2, Treasure my commandments within you, make your ear attentive to wisdom, incline your heart to understanding, for if you cry for discernment, lift your voice for understanding. If you seek her as silver, and search for her as for hidden treasures, then you will discover the knowledge of God. Mira nodded appreciatively. Maybe it was just the way he said it. Did you ever go to church? I mean did you always not go? Yes, in Mexico I used to go to a Catholic church as a child. Then some things happened and I started to wonder if going there made sense to my life. They were down to the river. Mira asked, What happened? She was finished with her ice cream and Alfonso was pushing her bike next to her. I made a promise to the Lord that our relationship would be personal and of greater value. This is a story... Do you really want to hear it? Im curious. She turned to watch a leaf float next to them at approximately the same speed as their stroll. The leaf seemed to be tagging along. There was all this wine in the church. Oh, I know where this is going. He paused, Do you? and waited for her to say more, but she didnt. You know

the blood of Christ its representing, right? We were maybe only twelve years old, but still it was wine. We knew what was supposed to do if you drank enough. We were told beforehand that if anyone disturbed the wine that he would be struck down by God. He waved all his fingers in front of her face. I think maybe this is what inspired our idea to go in and get it. We wanted to see what would happen. To see if we would really be struck down, you know? Like a test. So we broke into the storage room at night and seized the wine. Where was everyone? How did you not get caught? We little kids could break in to any place. That part was not the challenge. But, you know, it was during the week, at the school. It was very dark in there and we seized the wine and we drank it all. The whole jug! A jug! And it seemed fun because as tiny boys we were all very drunk within a short period. Another boy ate a whole jar of peanut butter by himself too. We were so happy and full. Mira interrupted, Thats what I thought! She was chuckling. You guys got blotto. Alfonso wasnt laughing. In fact, he was so solemn she suddenly felt embarrassed, and then alarmed. She asked, Was someone struck down? He said, No. You are joking. They walked a bit. We only enjoyed it, and no one was yet struck down. But, really, we forgot all about getting struck down at this point. We were too drunk to fear anything! But the next day! Agh. The next day we would come to

the fear. Some articles from the storage room were discovered in the boys dormitory, empty peanut butter jar I think, the wine missing too of course. So the teachers and priests were very angry. Very angry. They gathered up all us boys into the church and explained what had occurred and then they demanded that the culprits confess that very moment. They told us horrible things would happen if we did not make a confession right then. They described the way hell was burning, and that wine did not come cheap, and those who had stolen it were the worst kind of sinners because it was also a holy thing, the blood of Christ, and it was a sin to get drunk on it. They explained all this to us, angry angry Fathers, that if we did not confess and ask forgiveness of the Lord, we would be punished by Jesus. It was His wine, you see? I was frightened, but I was mostly afraid of those Fathers who we all knew would beat us if we confessed. He paused to lift the bike over a bed of rocks and back onto the road side. Mira had to hike her dress to her thighs to step over the rocks. So we were all very frightened and one boy was so scared that he did confess later that day. Alfonso dragged his finger tips down his cheeks. Crying, tears streaming down. In front of everyone in church he confessed what he had done. Mira grimaced. He shook his head. I was ashamed of him I tell you; Ashamed of his fear. I decided to wait instead and see how God would punish me. I left it up to God, not those priests.

Mira asked. Did anything happen to him? He was beaten! Alfonsos high-pitched tone indicated that this was a silly question. He was beaten that day, I tell you. Very hard. But he did not give up our names. He said he acted alone. I kept some respect for him for that. And you know, I was never beaten or humiliated, and yet I committed the same crime as he. Mira asked, Did you feel guilty? Maybe I did. But, I figured something would happen to me soon after, something probably much worse than a beating, and I waited for that thing. I feared I would die terribly before I could become an adult, and I began preparing for that at a very young age. Do you know it is like to be twelve years old, preparing for your death? They led me to believe that for many years. I was living everyday waiting to be struck down. I spent part of my childhood preparing to die. They walked silently. He continued, And you know what? Nothing has ever happened to me as a result of drinking that wine. Of course, it is funny to say that as an adult. I think it is my first time saying it. But, I realized that, you know? Whatever might happen to me now is Gods plan, he chuckled lightly, But it will have nothing to do with that wine. Mira said, They lied to you. They proved to me that day, through an act of violence, that they did not know Gods plan for me as they claimed. We had merely drunk the wine, and for it a boy was

beaten terribly. That was all they had meant by us being struck down. It wasnt to be by God, but by them. They were the ones who wished to strike us down. We had been dishonest, but wed done it to discover an important truth and we were not beaten. The one honest boy was beaten for a reward. After that for me, my relationship with the Lord must be personal. It is what I decided that day. At this point the road became the lane that led to the Bafflehaus ranch. They stopped walking so that Mira could take over the handlebars. Will you be all right, riding alone? He examined the basket behind the seat. Suddenly, she did not want him to go. Im all right doing lots of things alone. He looked diffidently at the toy monkey in the basket. Yours? She shrugged. Really, it is yours? She could not see that he was smiling. I just use him in pictures sometimes to set the contrast. Hes medium gray, so I can meter off of him. It was a convenient excuse. She had only used him for that maybe once or twice, and only then to validate the excuse. May I keep him? For now? I cant part with my monkey, either. You want him? Ill return him to you, of course He made no attempt at an explanation. I guess so, if you really want. But Ill miss the little guy. She pinched the stuffed animals cheek. Hes a vegetarian ok, and he goes to bed at nine oclock sharp.

It is understood Are you also a vegetarian, Mira? Me? No. But, why do you want him? He might miss me too much, you know, she pouted, petting the nylon fur between the ears. Alfonso became very serious. Your monkey is in good hands. Hes George. Alfonso walked away holding George over his shoulder with one hand, waving the thin toy arm at her. She called out, Good bye, my love! During the rest of her journey home she didnt notice the ground or sky gliding by in her periphery. Alfonso, Al, Fonzy. Alfredo. Alf. She found it extremely pleasant to imagine him impulsively pulling her toward him. Surrender and then resolve, and finally abandon. The prospect of a kiss; She tested her own reaction, by licking her lips as she imagined it. Yes. Oh, that would be so nice.

,f/16

Youre holding one of the stereographic cards from an important part of Bafflehauss antique photography collection. The thick rectangular cardboard sits next to the viewer that came with the case, and some other 3-D photo cards; in a simple oak box with a brass clasp and hinges, lined with dark red velvet. Remarkably, you can see this image in 3-D if you place the card in the slot at the end of the viewer and gaze through the eye-piece mounted at the opposite end of the long adjustable stick with a handle underneath. The twin images in sepia tone, mounted on a dough-colored card, have been cared for over time and so have not faded or weathered much. The viewer and case still look new as well, though they are now over a hundred years old. There is no caption under the photos, but a place name and date: Kosomo Camp, 1896. Through the magic of the third dimension you are transported to that time, and stand before a terrible scene. It depicts part of a manicured meadow that has been carefully cleared of grass, and in the middle of the hard-pack dirt area, two white men, with dirty faces, in dirty white shirts sit atop two medium-sized dirty white horses, but there seems to be no sign of any camp. The men appear looming above you with vacant, sunken eyes and hollow cheeks. All around them on the ground are piles of smoldering ash that once stood proudly as Miwok roundhouses. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight separate piles of ash can be seen from where you stand. Next to you are people huddled together, mostly children nestled close to

women, gripping them tightly around the legs and waists. All their faces are round and full, though the womens are creased and dark with sun. Their long hair pulled into braids, seen and unseen. They are wearing full skirts made of cotton fabric, well-worn with holes in some places; One with a pattern of flowers, the next stripes, and the one next to her wears what looks like a patchwork quilt. On top they wear men shirts and hold thick blankets around their shoulders, which are the only objects of importance, beside themselves, saved from the homes before their destruction. These blankets will continue to be prized not for their beauty, as they are very intricate and exquisite in their designs, but for their pedestrian ability to shelter from the cold those who possess them. The faces of the children are smeared with dirt and soot and fright. They stand barefooted in tattered pants and dresses. One boy holds a small mutt to his chest. These women and children next to you look out on the scene with anguished expressions as their men lie in pools of blood. Some dismembered, but mostly whole, shot with the guns you now notice hanging at the sides of the filthy men on the horses. This could not be the work of only two, you think, but there is at least one other holding the camera. There must be more. The eyes of one of the dead stare up at the men on horses, accusingly; You have ruined us, and we did nothing to you. This mans shirt is darkly soaked, his pants rumpled, his bare feet with pads almost as tough as the horses hooves lay at an impossible angle, tucked strangely under his knees. He had crumpled this way, unwilling or unable to

surrender his home to strangers bearing guns and shouting demands. At first they had complied. Come out of your houses! And so they did. Stand to one side! And so they did. But then, Set your houses afire! had not been so easily agreed to. The children were forced to do this eventually, with their mothers herded together looking on, as deadly guns were trained at their cluster, after the six Miwok men already lay dead on the ground between the roundhouses they had built with their hands. The arrangement of trees and the boulders beyond look oddly familiar to you from another life. You may at first dismiss this, thinking that many trees and rocks look similar to each other without being the same. But it nags at you until you notice one large, flat rock in particular, near a white oak sapling. Its distinctive pattern of grinding depressions will still be visible over a hundred years from now, under the same tree much grown. This is your meadow, the one you stare out into as you eat your macaroni and cheese, your meadow full of birds and wildflowers and grasses. This is the same backdrop, to which you had mistakenly and naively attributed a tranquil and undisturbed past. This is your haunted field, where the white church will be built just beyond in a matter of only a year, now that the land has been cleared of its native presence, a pestilence to these men on horses. This is your worried meadow, where the ghosts of a white man and his dogs fear to tread in the afterlife, because the spirits of more proud and righteous beings still preside over it; people who died with years of useful life ahead of them. The Miwok never thought of the land as theirs to be taken, but of their lives as theirs to be taken in death or as slaves,

in any case brutally, and to them without reason. They will not leave it, their living family members having been denied by Christian missionaries the right to practice the proper rituals of burial according to their traditions; Pagan traditions, punishable by death. They will dwell in coming years as their animal spirits, until their deaths are avenged, or their souls properly invited to the next world. A coyote, a fox, an owl, a hawk, a buck, a wildcat, and a falcon are not there in your meadow as strangers. They reside with purpose, and patience, and sorrow.

Chapter 8
I just think its important to be direct and honest with people about why youre photographing them and what youre doing. After all, you are taking some of their soul, and I think you have to be clear about that. --Mary Ellen Mark

A sunbeam illuminated a trail of dust in the air from the window right up to where Kitty stood in the open doorway of the den. You dont go out much do you? she questioned Mira, but it sounded more like an accusation. Mira was behind Franks hulking mahogany desk wearing white cloth gloves made for handling loose negatives. Id think a young gal like you, attractive, from the big city, would be looking for a fun time. Oh, I get out go for a lot of walks And honestly I do look forward to watching Haley and Clement for you. Pishaw. Why dont we get Agnes down the street to watch them, and you can

come out with Lloyd and I. You need to have a little fun! Oh, Lord help me. I went to the festival. Oh, Mira. That was a month ago. Well, but what is there really to do around here? I mean, the saloon, you know but. Kitty offered, We have stuff, like bingo which is technically for the old people I know, but we like to get over once in a while. Lloyd even won sixty bucks last week! I dont play, usually. But I like tagging along, and the popcorn is free. I wasnt inviting you to that anyway. This Saturday theyre bringing in the karaoke machine to Petes! Mmm, karaokeWhy not Bingo? I dont play that. Kitty sneezed twice. Bless youBingo? Bingo. Well, Im not as good at it. Lloyds the one. Lloyd can set two three cards at a time and have em all running. Mira nodded. Hmm. Honestly, though, I would rather play Bingo. Its anonymous, and at least theres the potential for money. Mira went back to sleaving negatives, hoping this would the end the conversation. Kitty kept on. Dont you like to sing, Mira? I heard you sing. You sing good! When did you hear me sing? Mira asked. I dont sing, and when I do it isnt good. Believe me.

Kitty leaned sideways against the door jamb, Well, you dont have to sing if you dont want. Lloyds the one. Hes a beautiful singer. Mira laughed alone. He is? Are you being serious? Kitty nodded. Ballads. He has a God-given gift. Lloyd sings ballads? Thats funny. I dont mean funny funny. But kind of weird. I mean he doesnt seem like the type who would sing, thats all- at least in front of people anyway. Thats a hoot. Kitty said, Oh youll hoot, sweety pie. Youll clap, and you might even cry. Whistlings okay too.

On a long walk up the hill that afternoon Mira found an arrowhead of chipped obsidian which she rubbed clean before placing it in her pocket. She had been up here before and though it wasnt a trail, walking either straight up or straight down always kept her from getting lost. Winded at the top, she bent over to put her hands on her knees to breathe the air fresh with sage; Another obsidian point right there! She picked it up. Walking was the only way to get to this spot, and that made the views of the Calaveras River on the other side more satisfying. From where she stood she could see a dilapidated mine, part of a twisted railroad track, and the remnants of a flume and windmill. She had forgotten about her cell phone in her backpack until it started ringing. Though she was alone, she practically made a scene throwing the pack down then

frantically rifling through it. Hello? Ernesto? No, Im sorry. What number were you calling? she could hear her own breath in the receiver. The caller hung up. She stared at the LCD screen in awe before dialing her father. It rang a few times before he answered at the other end. Dad? Mira! Youre on the cell. Ive tried you so many times on that damn thing and it never goes through. I know. Service is terrible here. Nonexistent almost, I thought. Im on top of this mountain anyway and its working! I cant believe it. Absolutely cannot believe it. How are you? Youre on a mountain? Mira clarified, Eh, actually a hill. Whatever; High up, sort of. How are you? Im at work, but Im doing fine. How are you? Im getting it done. Have you gotten any of my emails? He said, Yeah. Oh yeah. Sounds like quite a place youre in. It is. Youve read my emails? Why dont you ever write back? Oh, Ill write you back. Sure. Im just waiting for something to happen thats worth writing about. Mira told him, I dont care if theres nothing to write about! I just like to hear from

you. Well, Ill do that. He laughed. Ill tell you what I eat for lunch. Dad? He said, Im here You okay? She started to cry. Its really hard here. I feel like sometimes, like I cant manage. Of course you can. Just hang in there and keep doing your job. I am, she said. Then just try to enjoy yourself whenever you can. Youre not missing anything here, thats for sure. Ok, she said. But theres nothing to do here to enjoy myself. I dont even have a T.V. Just do what youre doing now, he suggested. Maybe get to know some people. Mira smeared her tears. Guess what? I just found two arrowheads. You didnt. Indian arrowheads? Good for you! Are they the real thing? I think so, she said. Ill ask my friend. Maybe theyre good luck or something. Id just think of them that way, if I were you. He sounded dead serious. Stick em in your pocket for good luck. She said, I did. Anything else going on?

Miras cell phone beeped. My battery is dying! He said, Ill let you get going then, but Im really glad you called. Me too. Now I know where I can go to use this thing again. Good. Now, you hang in there. I will, she promised. Alright. Talk to you soon, and then he hung up. Mira sat down on a tree stump to finish crying, but it was a half-hearted effort. Maybe she was cried out. She was beginning to wonder if she had ever cried so much in her life.

Come Saturday, Kitty was to retrieve Mira for their evening with the vocal stylings of Lloyd Conlon. As much as she hated to admit it, this was giving her something to look forward to and she was glad of Kittys persistence. It took Mira all afternoon to archive one box of negatives in the den. At the edge of a carpet that covered the hardwood floor, she had been sitting on her knees for so long she could barely feel her feet when she stood up. Walking to the library downtown to check her email seemed like a good way to get blood back into her legs. It was a very small library, only three rooms in an old Victorian, shaded by weeping willows at every corner. Two computers had been donated by the church and their use was free of charge. There was an email from her friend Lisa in New York. She and Lisa shared a two-

bedroom in the Village for four years. While they lived together they maintained a social life that was almost overwhelming at times. During and right after college they would go out to bars every night of the week, meeting up with friends then moving on to another bar and then another until their money, patience or energy ran out. Since graduation they had gone out more instead of less, mostly college friends with whom the relationships were comfortable and familiar. Sometimes they met people for dinner or attended a gallery opening for what ever Mira was working on at the time, but the night usually revolved around one or both of them aiming to bump into a certain person. In Miras case that person was usually Art. When she announced she was leaving for the year, Lisa was supportive but surprised. She had given Mira a new loupe that day. It was wrapped in tissue paper and nestled in a foil gift bag. The card read A new eye to see your new environment. Love ya, Lis. On this day, in the library there was an email from Lisa in her inbox. Hey Mir, We all miss you sooooooooooo much. Were going to Three Feathers tonight. Im wearing this KILLER dress I got on sale at Saks. Its totally short, but its so hot here I can get away with it. Weve gone out like every night since you left (as usual.) Im running out of outfits Im excited about. Ive totally put to use some of the clothes you left in the boxes in my room. Hope thats ok. ;) The sublet, Jessica, is great btw!!!!!! Youll luv her. She dropped out of med school last year and is applying to law schools. We totally hit it off and have fun

together. She loves going out with everybody. Guys luv her too which is such a blast anywhere we go. How are you doing? How are things with that guy? Beedy or Batey? BTW, saw Art out last night. He looked hot (as usual.) Sorry. I hope that doesnt make you feel bad. He asked how you were doing!!!!!!! I told him great of course. And that you had guys all over town fawning over you. (He doesnt need to know the place is deserted!) Gotta go. Im getting my hair cut off tonight. This salon is totally expensive. Yikes! Its been so hot here Im sick of dealing with my hair. Ill send an attachment of what Im having done. I hope it looks good. Short and tons of highlights. Kinda similar to Jess. Sassy and hot, thats what Im paying for! Love ya, lis. And under that was her official email stationary for the Chase-Manhattan branch where she worked. Nothing from Art, of course; She didnt expected there to be, but the hope of it was her secret motivation for going to the library in the first place. There was an email from her boss at the museum asking if it would be easier for her to work on the cataloguing in New York after shipping all the work back there. She considered this option and realized it would be harder that way, but at least she would be home sooner. She decided not to reply immediately. There are clearly some unappealing aspects to being back in New York so soon, (Art.) And some appealing ones to staying in Vanishing River were beginning to develop, (Alfonso.) She replied to Lisa: Hey Lis! Was Art with some chick named Zarah when you

saw him? What did she look like? The hair cut looks a little severe, my dear. I hope you didnt go that short. Send me an after-pic. Things here are good. Getting tons of work done. New guy on the horizon. Tell you about it next dispatch. Love, Mir. P.S.- I cry a lot and I think Ive seen ghosts. Dont tell anybody. -MD. There was a new email from her dad, posted seconds before. Im having left over pasta salad and a bagel with cream cheese and tomatoes. We miss you and we hope youre doing well. Signing off, Youre loving dad. She replied, I want a bagel from your side of the country. P.S. I think my good luck arrowheads are the real deal! On her way out of the library she met Big Lou going in. He was there for the Internet. She recalled the day she last saw him. A week or so before they had shared a table at Anitas Diner; the day after Jeremy took Imago Dei and tried to sell it on eBay. She was meeting Willy Laloon. Apparently he and Big Lou were old friends. Jeremys private buyer had fallen through, and the nearest pawnshop wasnt willing to give him anywhere near what he knew he could get for the camera. As stolen property, they had removed it from auction. The police collected it from him while he was staying in a tiny hotel room in Angels Camp. No charges were pressed. Imago Dei was now in Miras custody and Willy Laloon had written Jeremy a sizeable check from him fathers estate to hopefully avoid more incidents like that one. That day at the diner Mira had given Big Lou the news about his old friend Jeremy over eggs sunny-side up. He wasnt surprised to hear it, he claimed,

but left Anitas looking dispirited. That was the same day Bodey showed up at her house with tomatoes from his moms garden. Mira guessed that he had really come because he wanted her to buy beer for his friends, however when she offered him one to drink, he declined. I shouldnt be giving it to him anyway. Seriously? she questioned. She was already opening a bottle for herself. I also have root beer if you would prefer, or sun tea. I made it today. No lemons though. Teas fine. With ice? I should bring you lemons. My mom and I are we have a Meyer lemon tree in the yard. You know those? he asked lighting a cigarette. On the porch! On the porch! It already smells enough in here! Meyer lemons. Yeah, those are the good ones, right? she pushed him out and handed him Georges food dish for an ashtray. They sat on the porch steps together. How can you smoke, but you dont want beer? He told her, I prefer the buzz I get from cigarettes. I cant believe you smoke. Sometimes I like to sit down and relax, he said. Read a bit of scripture, think about Jesus and have a smoke. She said, A cigarette for Jesus. He smiled as he took a long deep drag. You trying to get to God faster with those? she asked.

Yeah, maybe, he said. But not for a long time. Plus beer makes you fat, and by then theyll have a cure for lung cancer, emphysema, whatever. She told him, They make your breath stink and your teeth yellow. Not attractive qualities in case you were wondering to girls. Im not into girls anyway, he said. His confidence raised Miras brow. He wasnt finished with his statement. Im into wo-men. He enunciated both syllables clearly, possibly in an effort to emphasize his prowess. Mira sipped from the lip of her bottle. Oh yeah? In her voice was a mixture of amusement and reluctance. Where the hell is this going? Chicks my age just dont appeal. She nodded mechanically and shifted to hide her grin. How old are you anyway, Bodey? You never said. Im guessing fifteen. I know I look younger than I am, he said, but Ill be 17 in two months. Luckily she was facing the opposite direction, because now she had a huge smile on her face. The fact that he had been carefully nursing a goatee was achingly apparent under the harsh sun. Her smile languished before she managed to subdue it. Yeah? I figured you were at least 18. Oh well. This must have made him smile. How old are you? he asked, dragging from his cigarette in what was likely a much-rehearsed affectation. His careful tone tried to indicate

that he already knew the answer to the question and was just asking for edification. For some reason smoking looks sexy on him. Which is Im sure why he does it. Im so bad. Hes 17! No hes 16! Well, I also look much older than I am, Ive been told anyway, so you may be surprised to hear that Im only 15. Bodey laughed and leaned back on his elbows. She couldnt help looking down at where his abdomen disappeared into his jeans. Tell, me the truth, he said, still smiling. Thirty-four, she was joking again, and ready for his shocked reply. Instead, he accepted it. Backfire! Dont dig yourself in any deeper with this clown. Im twenty-three, Bodey! I cant believe you didnt know I was joking. I did. He said in a self-assured manner. Still, it didnt matter that much to him how old she was as long as she was older than he was. For the first time since she had actually turned twenty-three, Mira really felt that old. He said, See, Im more into gir-Women your age. He was leaning back so she couldnt see his face. She said, But, you know, a woman like me could get in trouble with the law. What? he sat up again. Yeah its against the law for anyone over eighteen to get involved with anyone under eighteen. Didnt you know that? He looked surprised. I thought that was only for guys dating girls under-age.

Nope. She laughed at his misconception. Its everybody. Age-of-consent. Youre not legal, little boy! He suddenly looked genuinely irritated. Little boy? Whatever. Sorry. That was actually a compliment. You probably already sent some poor woman to jail like that didnt you? Now you know why. Its true, though. Im not lying. She took a swig from her beer bottle and leaned over him to get her camera off the chair by the door. He stubbed out his cigarette and swished around a mouthful of tea. Who said I was talking about you anyway? Oh, did I suggest that? she fluttered her hands to her chest. I figured you meant Elsie at the gift shop. That was clever, she chuckled. Art could have appreciated that. If he knew who Elsie was. She snapped a few pictures of Bodey exhaling cigarette smoke in swirling patterns above his head. The way the light was glancing in through the smoke and across his face, she knew they would be nice portraits. Unbeknownst to Mira, Bodey had angled himself into position. The moment he had come for was upon them. He leaned over the short expanse of step between their bodies and kissed her with the exuberant tongue of a 16-year-old. Mira let him linger in her mouth for a moment, tasting the faint smoke and the tang of unfamiliar saliva, before ending it. Bodey! she admonished obligatorily. People like me can go to jail for what you just did.

I stole it! he exclaimed, slapping his thigh and looking at her triumphantly. This was as far as he had planned, so he grabbed his hat and got up to leave. Now I guess I done a crime! he said in an exaggerated country accent. You done a crime all right, and Ive been an accessory! He said, Why, youre my very own little accessory then. And a cute one too! Visit me in jail? She picked up his ashtray and her empty bottle. He smiled broadly at the world. Dont do it again, she commanded, resisting the urge to put her hands on her hips like a schoolteacher. I cant make any promises about that, he replied, Im too unpredictable! She shook her head. Go find someone your own age!

At the entrance to the library, Big Lou appeared as morose as he had that morning at Anitas. And she didnt know him well enough to recognize that this was not in his nature. Oh, we got troubles, Mira, he laced his fingers together in front of his belly, and rocked from heal to toe. Whats up? she asked. Jeremys forgotten us. What do you mean? He isnt going to He was already shaking his head, causing his long silver-streaked hair to move

back and forth on his slumped shoulders. Wants big money. Says our ancestral land will go to the highest bidder. He nearly spit when he said it. Disappointed, she stared up into the sky. Boy, that guy is really into the auction thing. Mira had been eager to enlist the help of others when Jeremy had stolen from her, but now that she had been taken care of she allowed herself to forgot how it felt to be in need. Im sorry, Lou. That blows. He squinted out over the treetops into the distant light. I dont know what well do. Well, I havent got money, but I have time and if there is ever any way I can help, please let me know. Honestly. She gripped his wide wrist with one hand when she said it. Thank you, Mira. That is kind. We may end up needing all the help we can find. How a guy like that can turn, I just dont know. Then, I dont understand why guys like that are given so much legal power in the system when people like us can work our whole lives and still not secure any thing for the future. Its beyond me. She was disgusted by a situation she still had not fully grasped. Im really sorry this is happening. She watched him shuffle inside to log on at the computer. His two large fingers poised above the keyboard, to hunt and peck at an astounding speed.

Mira wanted George back, but not for the stuffed animal per se. She missed talking

with other people her age, and at the same time wondered what the hell she had always had to talk so much about. With Alfonso, she felt, as she rarely had, more inclined to listen. It was six oclock and her eyes were bloodshot from a day of squinting over a light table casing negatives dating back to Franks earliest professional work in the fifties. There were muggy street scenes in Bombay, cross-dressing bobby-soxers in a San Francisco nightclub, and from who-knows-where there were more than a few frames featuring glistening pompadours, false teeth, and pasties. One set of shots were taken in tube stops throughout London, of people trying to cram themselves onto the trains; Gloucester Road, Regents Park, Marylebone, Knightsbridge, Paddington. There was another roll of film that looked like it was shot outside a biker bar at night. The Hells Angels looked surprisingly amenable to be being photographed; one of the men smiled brightly, his arm encircling the waist of the bar owner. These negatives would be a critical element in Bafflehauss collected works and the exhibition at the museum. None of them, Mira noted, had ever been printed and certainly never seen by the public. This made her feel exclusive; like she may finally be making a success of this endeavor.

No longer completely anonymous in town, Mira had become shy, spending most of her evenings on her porch reading, or watching the sunset, whilst eating something deemed too messy for indoors such as barbequed ribs from the deli in the market, pistachio nuts, half a cantaloupe with a scoop of vanilla ice cream in the middle, a caramel covered apple.

She kept finding reasons to sit outside until the crickets chirped, or the bats flew silently by looking for the crickets. By sitting outside, it seemed she was inviting something, anything to happen- but nothing ever did. On this night, she opened the window next to the sink to let in a breeze while she fried a cheese and tomato sandwich and considered the liability of unpacking the suitcase she had been living out of for the past two and a half months. She thought about arranging some of her photos of family and friends around the room, the same prints that had blown on the wind during her onerous journey into town. She had been cautious about allowing herself to miss people back home. Without acknowledging it, she was terrified of the immense and mysterious power of her loneliness, consciously deciding not to confront it whenever faced. Youll be seeing us soon enough, her dad had reminded her at the airport, worried that she may get homesick. Remember, both home and sickness are states of mind. She had wanted to believe his platitude, and now dared to open the portfolio, which had been moved only once since the day she arrived here and leaned it against the wall. The string binding the two covers together seemed to untie itself in her hands. On the bedspread she laid out pictures of her mother and father, her brother, her best friend from high school, her college roommates, her sister and her sisters fianc, and she noticed something that had eluded her until now. This is my family... So why do they look so unfamiliar all of the sudden?

To other people who saw these portraits, each one may have looked like an art piece; Her college professor had declared several of them as sprinkled with magic dust. But to Mira they had been merely demonstrations of her astounding ability to capture a subject looking so vulnerable, open, and yet strong. Now the sight of their eyes, shoulders, hands, freckles, fingernails every part of these people planted an unexpected seed of emotion in her chest that bloomed ferociously into a sticky pear. Now that they were in front of her she felt farther away from them than ever. Imagining herself as a pioneer, Mira pictured how it must have been for the people who settled the West into places like Vanishing River. She knew that many of those settlers left their families behind forever and came to places like this without the hope of ever seeing their loved ones again; Usually without even a photograph to remind them of their faces. The majority of those people were only able to bring their memories, delicate as smoke. As she stared, she realized that the greatest beauty in her portraits came through the subjects themselves. Was that the magic dust? What she had been erroneously taking credit for all these years, was them all along. A single, sudden burst of tears emerged from her like a choked cough and a wail of pain. She stood still in front of the faces, holding both hands to her mouth with the intent to stifle any more anguished outbursts. Her feeling of isolation and longing was suddenly formidable. These were more than just pieces of a portfolio, as she had assumed. They were thicker than mere paper, and trickier than smiles.

These were bits of spirit from the people she knew intimately and whom she relied upon, who gave her life. What she now gazed upon was only the light they reflected into her lens. These photographs on paper were not the sturdy beings she had made them out to be. Suddenly these were people she irrationally feared she may never see again, and it struck her with the dread that one, or all of them had died but she had not yet been informed. Such is the nature of a photograph, catching ones image for posterity; with the shutters click that instant is committed to the past. Now, her consternation grew until her body delivered her another intense spasm of grief, thankfully serving as a reminder that she was still there, and if she was, most likely they were as well. The ball of angst inside her began to shrink back to its normal size, and she was left with a hollow feeling in her chest. This was the difference between paper and digital. Digital was too ephemeral for Mira. You cant treasure a CD the way you can a print. The instant gratification Art had believed her to be so fond of was not her milieu after all. She wanted the thing she could hold, and waiting for it made it better in some way. The cheap images blaring out of a computer screen seemed crass by comparison. Nobody cared about those images the way they cared about a tin type or even a strip from a photo booth. You cant cradle a digital image in your palm, she thought. And you cant tear it up and burn it with a match, either. She lay down on the bed next to the images she had apparently been able to infuse with poignancy; still without knowing how shed done it. She reflected on her portraits of strangers and how they were usually unsuccessful. Now instead of trying to see why, she

could feel why; in this she understood more than just the angles and the levels of light reflected from the visages she photographed; She realized her own ability to make someone look loved just by loving them. Thats how I did it: By loving them.

Someone knocked at the door and Mira put on a pair of shoes before answering it. There was no one there. Her first thought was that Haley and Clement were playing a game, then she looked down she saw George propped upon the frayed sisal mat, his arm positioned into a wave. Alfonso must have been somewhere nearby. Well, hello George. I see youve decided to come home, after all. I thought maybe you would never Helllloooo, said Alfonso in a singy sort of tone he used regularly for greetings and leave-takings. He stepped onto the porch, beaming. Well, George, she said holding the monkey, I see you brought a friend with you. And you are? Alfonso removed his hat before letting himself in through the open door. She was surprised and amused by the way he had clearly gotten ahead of himself. Inside the threshold he was guileless and simpering. So, this is your place! He stood in the middle of the room, delighted to be peering around. They were both quiet for a moment. Oh! Im sorry. He rushed back out the door, holding his hat to his chest. May I? Oh, of course. No formality here. She waved her hand to the side as an invitation.

Thank you. I apologize Dont worry about it. Would you like something to drink? Look who is standing in my house! Oh, sure, sure, he said. Whatever you have. Beer? she asked. Oh, no thank you. I dont drink really. Just very seldom. She apologized, Im sorry, I forgot. I have sun tea, Sprite, and milk actually. Yesmilk, and water. Ill have tea. He strolled about the room looking at the pictures she had just laid out. The evening light cast dim beams onto them as it began its nightly fade behind the line of hills. He touched the edges of a few prints. Alfonso stopped at the picture of Miras brother which was leaning against the wall at the top of the low bookcase. Is this the man you spoke of? The man? She went over to where Alfonso stood. The the one, you know, the one who broke your heart. His voice was soft and halting so that she almost had to ask him to repeat himself. Ohhh, that guy? Yeah, no. This is my brother, Jeff. She held the edge of the portrait to look at it as she spoke. Hes broken my heart a few times too though, actually. Su hermanoDo you have any pictures of that other man? No, no I dont Well, I did have one, but I lost it. Which is fine with me, as it

turns out. Ive already forgotten what he looks like. She squinched her nose to emphasize the point. He was facing the large Bafflehaus portrait of Ruthy. Idiota. Alfonso snapped and turned to eye her as he spoke. Well, he was a fool, that man. She sighed and sat in one of her many chairs. Yeah his loss. Right? Thats what people always say when these things go south. South? He strolled along the edge of the bed, studying the pictures she had laid out. Her stomach fluttered wondering what he might be thinking. You took all of these, no? She nodded, suppressing pride. Beautiful, he said, picking up one of her favorites. It was of her sister lying back in the window bench they used for reading at her parents house. The light was coming from behind, but also reflected off the surface of the bookshelves on either side of her. Her curly hair was glowing like a halo. Her smile was slight and the look in her eyes was of trust and ease. It made one want to stare at her, to be next to her. My instructor said that this one, and some of these others were sprinkled with magic dust. Alfonso laughed, but didnt take his eyes off the portraits. What is magic dust? Mira suddenly felt silly. She shrugged, but he didnt see her. I dont know, maybe

you can tell me. He picked up another one, this time a picture of her dad. His expression was similarly enchanting. They love you, Alfonso said. Thats your magic dust. A revelation: They me? she said and laugh burst from her throat threatening to turn into a sob. Their love for me is the magic dust. She rubbed her eyes hard and then laughed again. Amazing. She shook her head. Alfonso turned his attention to the facing wall. This is one of Bafflehauss pictures correct? Yes, thats his daughter. Have you met her? No, he said. I dont think so. She lives here well, over there at the other house. With the Conlons, but the other house is hers. Its sort of confusing right now Ruthy. Thats her. Really, Mira. I have never seen her before She is very beautiful. After a pause and a sip, and a thought about whether or not she felt like explaining it all right then, she said: Yes, she is. Was I interrupting you? Should I go? No, I wasnt doing anything much, she told him. Just thinking about whether or not I should unpack finally. He glanced around and noticed her duffle bag full of clothes in the corner. Why have you not unpacked?

Just not sure how long Im staying. You know? Really, Mira? You might leave? Well, I will eventually. I dont know yet how soon. Part of the reason I came here was not only to work on Franks collection, but also to learn from him. He was supposed to mentor me in my own work. That was part of the deal. Its one reason I dont get paid much. Thats why I was originally set up to be here at least a year. Now, I dont know. I get anxious to get back sometimes. Well see what happens. He made sure to have eye contact. I think you mustnt go very soon, Mira. He was so resolute on her behalf that it almost sounded rehearsed. Musnt go? Well, Im not decided on any timeframe yet. I havent started working at all on the studio in town, and thats going to take a while. And I havent found the key to the shed in the yard, which should supposedly be the majority of stuff. I havent even finished going through the house for that matter. So, Im not leaving any time soon, but I guess I have the option of just shipping the stuff back too, then sorting it out there. She twisted her mouth. I think you shouldnt hurry, he implored. I mean it. Please, Mira take your time. Will you promise me? She bobbed her head noncommittally, surprised but also intrigued by how he was pushing her. So, how about you? How did you to end up here in Vanishing River? Its a very interesting name dont you think? he said.

Yeah, Ive heard all kinds of stories. Alfonso sipped his tea. Ive lived here for five years. He held up a hand of long, splayed fingers. I was born in Oaxaca, as I told you. I still cant believe you know of Mitla! He snapped his long fingers. Im working for a rancher in town. Its just a way for me to earn money and eventually gain permanent citizenship. I send as much as I can back home to my mother. She has rheumatoid arthritis SoI try to send as much as possible. The guy I work for is a good employer I guess. Quiet about certain things, you know? The place here, this townits a bit tough for me; and my family in Mexico City, but I will stay, for now, for the job. But one day I would like my own ranch back at home. That is still my dream to tell you the truth. Mira nodded. So you will you go back then? I would like to. You must come to visit me there. He leaned forward and touched her shoulder. Id like to see it, sure, she said. Will I need to know Spanish do you think? My friend who spent a little time there didnt really know much, but he was in like a really closed environment, or whatever. He said, Not at first, if you are with me. But, yes eventually you would have to learn. Just for a visit? Mira was happily confused. Alfonso shrugged.

She changed the subject. So thanks for bringing George back. I hope he behaved himself. Oh, perfectly. He is a very sophisticated monkey. Did you know? He is? Well, yes, of course he is. How could you tell? Just some conversations we had, Alfonso spoke to the monkey. We both like to read the same books, but also he is learning to play chess. Chess, huh? Well, he didnt learn it from me then. Dont you know how to play? he asked. Nah. I learned once, but I kept losing every time and that took the fun out of it, so I stopped playing. Now I think Ive forgotten all the rules. You are very smart at games, I could tell by your crossword puzzle. If I am your teacher, you will do better at chess this time. I am a good cook as well I am told, if you believe me. So you can come for dinner? He was finished with his tea and got out of his chair to stretch. She said, That sounds nice. Just let me know when, and what I can bring. How about tomorrow, he suggested. And you need not bring anything. I cant tomorrow. I have such an active social life and all. Im going to this thing at the pizza place with my neighbors. I can reschedule! Do you sing? he asked, surprised. No! No I dont. Im just going along, because Kitty invited me, just to get me out

of the house for once. Thats a great way to sound pathetic, Mira. I love to sing, but I would never do it in a place like that. Why? she wondered. The people would laugh me out! I like singing, but I only do it for myself. Well, if you feel like joining us, please do. So another night then? He picked up the Yankees cap from a chair back and put it in to the groove it had already worn into his hair. I must go. I still have work to do before we loose the light. One of the cows has a sore that must be tended twice daily. She frowned. Well, maybe Ill see you tomorrow, anyway?Thanks for taking care of George. It was my pleasure, he said. Hes a good guy, you know? Mira walked Alfonso to the edge of the porch and waved as he climbed into his pick-up. I could make a nice portrait of him. Maybe Ill open up Franks studio. She breathed deeply the smells of dry grass and desiccated earth that infused the sky. It was seven oclock and she looked forward to a shower and a glass of wine before bed. A smile creeped up on her. She had been ready to title the picture of her day, Lonely in a Remote Outpost. But, it had ended differently. She went inside, held the stuffed monkey to her nostrils and breathed in. This is what his house smells like. The new title for today: Saved, by George!

Chapter 9
That 15th of a second. Once youve been there, you keep on wanting to get back. --Anders Peterson

Bodey left another bag of tomatoes, plus a few lemons, on Miras front mat where she would not see them until later that day. She wanted to photograph the old church she had seen only from a distance. For this, the morning, versus the evening light, felt safer. When she left, it was early enough that the dew was still rising from the meadow as steam. The first part of the trek required folding herself through a barbed-wire fence. When she came upon the mortar stone she had seen in the picture of the Miwok slaughter, she stood still in front of it. The dimpled wedge of rock was covered by the broad shade of a mature white oak (a sapling in the old stereograph.) Goosebumps be-fuzzed her forearms. When she pivoted to find the area of ground on which the village had stood, she was able to picture the approximate locations of the piles of ash and bodies in the photo. The ground

was no longer clear. It was now over-grown with clover and cattails. Short Manzanita bushes gave the impression the place had always been wild. She noticed another rectangular rock, low to the ground like a banquet table without legs, pictured in the middle of the scene piled with baskets. Now it was littered with dry leaves and strands of tall grass that bowed towards its center. Under the tree, she placed her hand inside one of the imperfect bowls worn into the granite. Looking at this rock in the photograph had made it seem more important than touching it made feel now. No mystical sensation came over her except for the cold sharp corners of quartz cubes jutting out. When she finally reached the dilapidated church it was not gray as she expected. It had once been white, but the paint had peeled off the shiplap siding to reveal the darkening wood underneath. Its windows were cloudy with mineral stains, dirt, and decades of spider webs adhered to the glass. These windows were all up so high that she would need a ladder to see inside them. The wooden part of the structure sat elevated on a foundation of stones fitted together and sealed with clay mortar. There were ten stone steps leading to the artfully carved double-doors at the front, featuring a still clearly visible but eroding scene of Noahs Ark. This area of the building was constantly in shade, and as a result was tinged with green moss. Mira stood in the shadow observing the steeple attached to the rusted tin roof, once covered by shale tiles, most of which now lay in talus piles around the building. On one

arm of the cross, barely able to hold this weight, perched a vulture surveying the field for his matinal-repast. The enormous bird took no notice of her, so she spent a few seconds photographing his grizzled face before the creature leaped into the air and glided off. A graceful ogre. Mira moved around the entire building noting its meager attributes: A rectangular box with a high angled roof, a steeple, one set of double doors, and twenty windows, surprisingly few of which were broken. She loitered at the back, wondering about the vein of gold that supposedly ran beneath her feet. She could see that someone had long ago and perhaps again recently, tried to dig a hole beneath the foundation, and the dirt had never been replaced. She encircled the premises twice, snapping half a dozen exposures as voices reverberated above the chatter of birds. Hello?.. Is it someone? called a husky voice, female only in its inflection. Mira replied, Its Mira, to whom she didnt know. Oh, Mira! from another voice, this one male; The chattering resumed. It was Big Lou. He sat with a small group of people around a campfire, surrounded by nylon puptents, a horse bridled to a tree, and some cases of bottled water. She said, Hi. Her smile was well received by the squatters. Big Lou asked, What brings you out here so early, Mira? He motioned for her to join them.

I just wanted to take some pictures of the old church. Everyone has a different story about it. Plus its kind of creepy, and I thought getting a better look would make it less creepy to me. How bout you guys? Big Lou asked, Is it less creepy? They all laughed. No. It might actually be more creepy. Big Lou raised his eyebrows and nodded in agreement. Were staying here now. We have to occupy our land. You know it is coming to that. Because of Jeremy? Mira asked. Big Lou nodded. We used to just come out here for special ceremonies and things of that nature, but now we want a contingent on the land at all times. Willy says it may increase our chances. Jeremys still selling it then? Oh yes. Of course! And he wants the most money for it he can get, and he doesnt care who buys it or what they do with it after that. But he doesnt want it for himself. You know? Have you heard? Mira shook her head. Only what you told me the other day. A woman with a sleeping bag draped over her shoulders sat close to Big Lou on a fallen log. He introduced her as Jo. And she watched Mira suspiciously, refusing to offer a smile. He continued, We just want to keep it natural. We want to be able to come here,

and for our descendants to be able to come here. Maybe we can raise money so you guys can buy it. Mira suggested hopefully, hearing the naivet in her own voice. We have told him, Give us the land, and we will search for gold day and night under the church. We will risk our lives if we have to. Whatever we find under there or anywhere out here, we told him, can all be his. We will pay him with whatever the land yields, proclaimed Big Lou. Mira asked, And what did he say? Jo answered. He says hes sorry but he wants his money now. She pointed at the ground. He isnt willing to wait. He wants it sold as soon as he gets an offer he cant refuse. Do you know him? Is he your friend? There was implied accusation. He said he wanted a reasonable offer, Big Lou clarified optimistically. This changed Jos demeanor. She turned to him, Ours is not reasonable? Ill tell you whats reasonable; giving us the land that is ours to begin with; Giving it back to us. Mira didnt feel well versed enough to discuss this subject or even to hold an opinion about it with these people who by the way, didnt look very Native American to her, excluding Big Lou. Even then one sort of had to know it to be able to tell. She turned away from them and looked out over the land, wishing for a distraction she could use for escape.

I am sick to imagine what will become of this beautiful place in the hands of the highest bidder, Jo spewed as she searched her shirt pocket for some object that didnt seem to be there. Let me show you, Mira, Big Lou said, walking her by the arm. This will be worthy of one of your photos. They went out of the trees and into the sunlight, followed by a few of the other people who had been sitting next to the fire. They crossed the meadow, passed the church, and marched up a slight slope. There were several oblong mounds surrounded by stones. Sparse green grass and wild flowers grew over the lumpy ground that appeared to have been watered and manicured when compared to the natural abandon of the surrounding meadow. If you stand here, Big Lou positioned Mira behind the mounds with a view of the old church in the distance, You can see that there is no cemetery with that church. Can you see that? Mira noticed that unlike all of the old churches she was used to seeing in upstate New York this one indeed had no cemetery next to it. No one attended it long enough, Big Lou continued. There are no crosses in that ground But look here. He pointed with middle and ring finger in a sweeping motion over the hillock, It is our bodies that are buried here. We have been laying our dead to rest here for longer than any of us today even knows for certain. Its hundreds of years! It is not

Anglo bodies who fertilize this earth It is our bodies! Miwok bodies, he said while shaking his clenched fists at his sides. It is our grinding stones, and our arrow points that scatter this land. It is our fire pits that color the soil, and it is the poles of our homes burned to the ground that are still buried deep. It is our history that is a part of this place. This land has been taken from our people once, and now it is about to be taken again. He walked stiffly off the mound, followed by his friends. One young man went away throwing stones into the dirt with angry force. Mira had no choice but to stand there as they walked away. She was not a part of them, and could not assume their anger. Her trip home was a rueful one. She thought about Jeremy and her stomach burned. She wondered what type of man Frank was to raise such a person, and not to see to it himself that the Miwok were returned their burial grounds. She wondered how he could have taken such beautiful portraits of people he barely knewbeing himself such an unthinking, unfeeling man. Before arriving in Vanishing River, she knew very little about her would-be mentor except through his astounding artwork, which she realized must have been deceptively simple. Rightfully or not, she was filled with indignation for someone she had hoped to admire, and the feeling did not subside for days.

There was a sign in the window at Petes Pieces, KAREOKE NITE ! and under that in lower case, Classic Goat for sale- see tark. Tark was also one of the pizza chefs at the restaurant; Mira had been introduced to him by Big Lou the day before; Now he waved

to her as she walked in. People filled booths at the parlor eating pizza and salads suffocated in ranch dressing and drinking fizzy yellow beer out of scratched plastic glasses. A few binders of song choices were being flipped through, and a stage like a plank, was jutting out of the corner of the room. Yep, you sure now, you aint gonna sing at all? Lloyd begged Mira as she, Kitty, and Ruthy found an empty table. Ruthy had come with them on their way out. She had begun to complain about spending another night with Haley and Clement, at their neighbor Agness house. Mira suggested they bring her along, and Kitty had reluctantly agreed because the suggestion was made in Ruthys presence. Id make an ass of myself, Mira explained to Lloyd. Choices at these things are always so limited anyway. I dont know. You can always find something. What about Dolly Parton. She sure it fun. Mira, you like country music? Kitty asked. I do like Dolly. Its not like Im a fan, or whatever But there is something comforting about listening to her. Kitty offered, Because she came up from nothingThats why. No matter what she looks like. Shes real. You know? They ordered a large combo pizza and a pitcher of beer. Ruthy surveyed the room,

I been here, she said, her face alternately brightening and going dark. I played ping-pong with Daddy. Ruthy had caught the attention of a few men as they had entered the building. Ping-pong sounds fun, said Mira. I beat my daddy! and there was something about the way Ruthy pumped her fist that made the men stop looking at her. Kitty touched Ruthys shoulder causing her to flinch. Im sorry, Kitty apologized, But, Ruthy, do you remember what we said about tonight? Or well all have to go home. Remember? In her chair, Ruthy turned away. For the fourth time Lloyd flipped through the karaoke binder in search of something specific. He glanced up at Kitty and Mira, smiling Already know what I want! Sure you dont want to look? Never know. We never brought her here, Kitty said quietly to Mira. But Frank did. Was one of the few things they did together. Ruthy begged and motioned to the ping-pong table. Kitty placed a slice of pizza on her plate and gave Mira a look that reminded her, this was not Kittys idea of a night out. Using the tip of her pinky finger, Mira tried to deflate the foam on top of her thin beer. What are you going to sing, Lloyd? I got a little something here, he said, making his selection on a small square of paper with a miniature-golf pencil. Let me surprise to you. He may have winked at Kitty

when he said it. Lloyd? his wife said with a worried tone, fixing her bangs with her fingers. He responded by asking Ruthy to take his slip up to the DJ. When Kitty reflexively stood up with her, Lloyd grabbed his wifes wrist. Let her go. She needs something to do. Then he turned to Ruthy. After you hand it in, come right on back here. He pointed down at the table. They all watched anxiously as Ruthy did as she was told. It suddenly occurred to Mira that both Lloyd and Kitty were younger than Ruthy by several years. But they looked older and of course, they sounded older. Among them, Mira was the youngest and at this time the most in need of alcohol. When the singing began Ruthy became transfixed. She didnt move except to peer around those who might temporarily stand in her view of the performer. Her eyes clung to the people on the stage as they entered or left to rejoin their table to cheers and laughter. She watched them as they resumed eating whilst recounting tales from just moments before. The restaurant smelled wonderfully of yeast bread and garlicky sauces, roasting onions and pepperoni. Miras cheeks were nearly fuchsia from the cheap beer and the warm atmosphere. It made it easier to wait patiently for Lloyds first turn at the microphone, which finally came after six other patrons had obliterated their favorite songs. For the previous tune, a youngish man alone at his table had gotten up to put all his effort into an appalling, room-clearing rendition of Queens Another One Bites the Dust. Yes it does! The DJ piped enthusiastically, to chuckles. Up next, Lloyd!

Lloyd? The announcement was followed by a burst of cheers. Mira was in awe. To avoid any impairment to his performance Lloyd hadnt drunk an ounce since they arrived and he nervously stood up from his seat. Mira suddenly became nervous for him. Hes a regular, Kitty shouted to Mira over the catcalls for her husband. Makes me feel like a groupie. When the first few bars of Cant Help Falling in Love with You came through the speakers, Kitty looked away bashfully, Oh my Jesus she said. Lloyds emotive rendition gave way to a standing ovation from Mira and Ruthy, who were the only two in the room to do so. Mira should have known at that point to stop with the beer. An hour later, after much goading, Mira found herself making her way to the stage. What am I doing? Half-way through a high-pitched screeching of Blondies, Call Me! she noticed with horror that Alfonso and two of his friends were sitting at the back counter. By the end of the song, Alfonso appeared to be one of the few people still left in the room. More afraid to stop or to come down from the falsetto than to just finish it out, Mira sweated through what was left of the song and didnt notice when the DJ mercifully muted her microphone, leaving it to the background singers that accompany the instrumental recording. Downplaying her mortification, she rejoined the table to Ruthys unrelenting applause, and the condolences of Kitty and Lloyd. She put her head down on the sticky

wood surface and prayed that the next singer might be miraculously worse than she. There was also the hope that contained within the film on the table was an infectious disease she could contract and quickly die of. Incidentally, Mira had also put in a slip for the Go Gos, We Got the Beat, which must have been misplaced by the DJ. One of the other regulars sang a jaunty rendition of Buffets, Margaritaville and people slowly ambled back to their seats. When Miras head came up she didnt see Alfonso in his chair: Cursed yellow beer! Cursed Debbie Harry! It wasnt the worst Ive ever heard. Lloyd was honest. At least you stuck it out. He looked away as he finished consoling her. Kitty had another piece of pizza and a sip of water. But, I believe you now when you say you dont sing, honey! This was when Mira remembered that Kitty was pregnant and not drinking alcohol. Lloyd had been nursing a single glass all night. Mira squinted at the almost empty pitcher in front of her and realized she had been the only one pouring from it. She didnt want Alfonso to see this if he happened to come over to console her, so she quickly shoved it away. No more! she proclaimed as the pitcher slid further away than intended and exploded on the floor, spraying patrons within a three-table radius. Chaos ensued as people reacted as though hit with acid. Meanwhile Alfonso took the stage, and Mira was in the ladies room for the fifth time that night. Confused when she heard his voice reverberating inside her dented tin stall,

she recalled him saying he would never sing at such a place. When she got out there he made eye contact with her and her stomach cramped. She hoped against any reason for a serenade like the one Lloyd had given Kitty. Then she heard Alfonso go off into a version of I did it My Way that made everyone wish he hadnt done it his way; that he had done it in any way other than his way. He belted out each line in an ever-elevating tenor, his vocal chords seizing from time to time. The only part of the song he did with any approval was saying Gracias, before the putting the microphone back in its stand. When he finally sat down, Mira joined him at the back counter of the restaurant where inches away pizzas were being assembled. In front of a bank of ovens against a brick wall, Tark rolled out dough as he talked about cars, not goats, to a couple of older men seated in front of him. Mira didnt mention Alfonsos performance, hoping he might return the favor. So I guess you were not the worst! he was holding his chest and jaw out. The place is very nearly empty! You see? Yes, I was the worst, but lets find another topic, she turned to his friends, three young men dressed similarly in jeans and short-sleeved button-downs. No boots. No hats. HiIm Mira, she said to them and offered to shake their hands. They greeted her politely but went immediately back to their conversation. You came with the girl from the picture, Alfonso said gesturing toward Miras table with his chin.

Yeah, she gets out even less than I do. I also dont sing much, which is obvious right? But anyway, shes loving it here. In fact I think shes the only one who is. Im really glad we brought her. She is much older than her picture, yes? Uh huh. That was an old picture you saw the other day. But right after theyre taken, were all older than our pictures, right?

When she and Alfonso stepped outside the pizzeria it took Miras skin a few seconds to adjust to the cool air. They watched as a car full of teenagers parked across the street in front of a short stone obelisk carved in the late 1800s by the three Spaniards according to the plaque at its base. The kids were coming to Petes. It was a dark green night and breezy. The open door of the restaurant poured out the orange glow of oven light. Mira leaned against the brick wall near the entrance. It was hot in there. Dont you think? Yes, he admitted. During my song, especially. Thought you said you would never get up and sing in a place like this. Yes, well you must have inspired me. Then I must apologize. I would hope I could have inspired you not to sing. I did a poor job? You werent as bad as I was but that isnt saying much. So you were not impressed? he asked, and then moaned slightly, with his head

down. Shall I go in for an encore then? Give it another try? An encore? Now she knew he wasnt being serious. And what would you sing? He rubbed his fingers on his lip. Something harder rocklikemaybe Ill figure it out when I get up there. Neither of them noticed when Bodey came around the corner wearing a baseball jersey and a cap pulled over his eyebrows. His jeans hung so low on his hips that he nearly had to shuffle when he walked. He entered the establishment without saying hello to Mira. The sound of the DJ singing Sades Smooth Operator escaped through the door when Bodey opened it, and Mira caught a glimpse of two couples sitting at a booth just inside: one pair talking, the other kissing under a sweatshirt that was stretched over their heads. A pizza pan on the table in front of them bore one piece of plain cheese pizza. Pizza makes people horny, she thought to herself. Inside the restaurant Mira spotted Bodey with a group of teenagers next to the pool table in the far corner. The lamp was mounted so low that it cast light upward at their faces, making them all resemble thugs. Kitty was at the counter paying the bill and having the leftovers wrapped up. Mira hurried up to her. Please let me pay for this. Oh no. Its our treat, sweety. Kitty, please. It was so nice of you and Lloyd to bring me out. You always feed

me. And I spilled all that beer and God, just let me pay. It would be my pleasure. Mira, dont worry. Just cook us dinner some night. Thatd be enough. All right, she placated, knowing her own lack of ability in the kitchen. And thank you again, so much. Now, Kitty said to her, I want to sit down before Lloyds last number. Mira glided back to where Alfonso sat with his friends, who were looking anxious to leave. Im glad I saw you tonight, she offered. And nice meeting you guys. The young men nodded politely. Vamos homeboy, one of them said to Alfonso. When will I see you? he asked her in a whisper. His friends looked up when he said it. It will be my turn to host. Mira could feel herself blush. I dont know where you live. Ill collect you. When? Tomorrow.

At home that night Mira cracked open the window nearest her bed, and crawled under the sheet and blanket. She woke a few hours later in the dark blue, unsure at first, why. There were no sounds outside, and she didnt have to pee, (that had already been done enough for one night.) She lay there quietly remembering a dream shed just had of a

college party with a karaoke machine and kegs in a kitchen, where spilled beer formed a puddle in center of the linoleum floor. The remembrance of the dream made her chuckle until she got to the part where Art and Zarah took to the microphone singing a duet of I Got You Babe. Mira groaned and rolled on to her side. From now on, shell imagine Zarah like Cher during her Indian-princess phase. Mira was trying to fall asleep when she detected a smell she recognized well; A memory-laden odor simultaneously sweet and dirty. There were also hushed voices on her porch, soft giggles, air escaping pursed lips through long tight gusts of exhale. Alarmed by the closeness of the voices Mira remained still, unsure of what to do. Short bursts of stifled laughter came from further out in the yard and a few twigs snapped along with the sound of dry leaves crunching under feet. No, Dude! whispered a young male voice. It looks awesome! from another. Smoking pot on my porch! It was Bodey and his friends in her yard. She didnt know what they were doing out there, but it would be easier to find out in the morning than to go out and interrupt them now. She was strangely flattered by their presence and had a suspicion that something childishly romantic might be might be taking place outside. After this realization, she wasnt awake long enough to appreciate how quickly she drifted back to sleep.

White sunlight scorched in, and Miras first thoughts were of the work she had planned for the day. Some old trunks of photos in the back of the den were yielding treasures from Franks work as a college student. Mira started her coffee pot brewing and thought of how it was his early years, before he became famous, that really interested her most. Looking at the way he saw the world through a lens before his style was fully realized gave a great deal of information about the raw inclinations of an artist before theyve had a chance to think of themselves as one. But then, she wondered about his numerous off years where his agent received none of his work. What was he doing during that time? And if he was taking photos, will I find them? Will any of them be useable? Perhaps, she considered, that was just a time when he wasnt taking any pictures at all. Maybe she thought, Ill find paintings in that shed. Horrible, horrible paintings. For a reason which didnt register at first, Mira wondered if it had snowed in the night. Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed the yard draped in long gossamer sheets. The sight was arresting, and she suddenly recalled the voices from the night before. Opening the door she gaped at the yard swaying in ribbons of toilet paper. The trunk of the central Live oak was practically mummified. The dogwoods and Manzanita bushes wore veils that waved from them like tattered fringe. The fence looked like one continuous wad of toilet paper. Smaller squares of white were caught on the breeze and scattered across the dirt. The dewy areas of grass, still shaded from the sun, looked like papier-mch. She stood in awe of what had happened so quietly as she slept just a few feet away.

The Conlons emerged from their house in bathrobes and blankets. In pajamas, Haley and Clement charged to where Mira was collecting errant squares of cheap doubleply. The children were astounded by the splendorous vision in white. At a loss for words, they said nothing as Mira grinned sheepishly, her arms full of toilet paper. She estimated that Bodey and his friends must have used at least fifty rolls to accomplish this fete. Haley yelled, Its a blizzard! Get dressed, you guys, Mira suggested, and Ill pay you to help me clean this up. They bolted back to the house. As he ran, Clement sang out Let it thnow! Let it thnow! Let it thnow!

The kids being low to the ground worked on what was scattered in the grass around the property. They unwound the fence together. Mira spent almost two hours working on what was in the trees and she still couldnt get it all. In her own vandalistic youth Mira, like many of her peers, had tried but failed to master a technique where one held the tail end of the toilet paper and tossed the roll into the highest branches. If one had a good enough throwing arm and a gentle touch, so as not to break the tender perforations, he or she might catch a ribbon on a ridiculously high branch and then watch, gratified as the unrolled portion tumbled earth-ward, unfurling as it made its way down, leaving behind it a long unreachable tract. Unlike the young Mira and her

cohorts, Bodeys friends had a knack for this trick. It would be two winters and approximately a hundred and seven birds nests before all the paper from this incident would disappear from the Bafflehaus ranch.

f/13

This one shot you feel maybe you shouldnt be seeing, but at the same time you cant keep your eyes from allowing you in. Aida is lying there half-asleep with one longlashed eye barely open, to match the lips barely parted in a smile. It is of Franks wife and this is the first picture you have found of her in the house or the studio. The others youd seen were the ones that had been published in books years ago, but so far you havent found any of those originals. None of them were ever this striking. Here is a gentle portrait of a beautiful woman dozing on a bed, beneath a window, which casts diffused morning light over her body. The image is black and white, but here the texture and intimacy of naked skin comes across better without the indulgence of color. She knows hes taking this picture, and does not object. You can see him reflected in the window behind her. Hes naked, holding the camera to his face so you are left to wonder what his expression is behind it. His chest is muscular, and his ribs show a little.

The groove from his abdomen out to his hip is defined and reminds you, for a moment of the statue of David which you saw once at the Louvre. You arent shocked by this photograph, but you wonder if you had met him in life, would you still feel that way? A vase of luminous flowers sits in a bubble-shaped glass on the nightstand, but there is nothing on the wall. The molding near the high ceiling tells you that this was probably taken overseas. A pair of gauzy curtains are drawn, so that you cant see outside, nor can anyone else see in. They had been together romantically only a month at this point, and had been feeding on each other like starved animals the entire time. Actual eating had seemed optional and they barely sipped and picked at their soups and salads whenever they went out. The night before this picture was taken, they had stared at each other over their table until the waiter begged them to make room for other customers waiting anxiously outside in a drizzle of English rain. They were already late for the play they wanted to see, and skipped it in favor of dropping in on a group of friends at a pub across the city. They got off the bus a few blocks early and strolled through one end of Regents Park before getting to the pub, humid and heady. They danced, drank, and caroused with friends, who had known them both separately, but also liked them together. They played billiards and guzzled pints of lager until they could no longer stand to divert their attention from each other, and left the pub in the rain.

Aida kept her hair short then, and wavy, and the raindrops turned the waves into irresistible ringlets. They ducked under the eve of the entrance to a darkened music store and kissed breathlessly, because they had both been wanting to for the last hour. He lifted her blouse, eagerly forced one bra cup to the side and licked the nipple he had exposed to the moist night air. She giggled and looked furtively along the street in case anyone should walk up. At the feel of his soft lips sucking, her open eyes rolled back for a moment, but his remain closed. This was a dangerous move on his part because it made them both want more. They had many blocks to go before reaching her flat. Because of the expense, they rarely used cabs, in favor of the tube or the bus, but tonight they slunk down in the back of one and whispered about how it had been torture to be apart like that at the pub. She felt his scalp through wet hair, and they tasted each others crimson tongues until they reached Aidas flat off Gloucester Road. They staggered up three flights of stairs, he chasing her, and she running fast enough that he couldnt match her lithe steps. She knew if he caught her it would ultimately take them longer to get there, if they did at all. Once inside the flat, a calm settled over them; No longer a need to rush. They were young and desirous and they each knew they had all night. Still damp from the rain, they left their long jackets in heaps by the door. Shirts and blouses were whipped off. Aidas knee-length skirt was allowed to fall around her ankles and she held Franks shoulder as she stepped out of it. Her Mary Janes remained on her feet for now. Franks pants

somehow came off over his oxfords and socks, and they sat on the edge of the bed kissing in their shoes and underwear. After they were naked they made love once ravenously, with fierce expressions. They bit at, slapped, and scratched one another with the savagery of a struggle for their lives. And when they were finished they lay reliving the experience of moments ago in whispers, giggling occasionally, and holding hands. Aida got up to pee, and when she came back chilled from sweating in the icy room, she climbed under the duvet with Frank. He was already on his way to sleep. She lay on her side in front of him, their knees fitting their bodies together like stacked bowls. She was tired and shivering. He wrapped his arm around the slim waist of the woman that would be his wife, and in a groggy state kissed the tiny curls at the back of her neck. His penis asserted itself again and she took him inside and they moved gently there for a while until both dozed off to sleep. When he awoke next to her in the morning, he relished the fact that they had slept the whole night with him inside her.

Chapter 10
If I could tell a story in words, I wouldnt need to lug around a camera. --Lewis Hine

There was a renewed promise of independence when Mira placed her hand on the gearshift of Franks old Ford truck. It felt alien at first because she hadnt driven since before she moved to New York City five years earlier. But, it only took her a few minutes

to feel comfortable cruising through town, so comfortable in fact that when she reached the end of the paved road she decided to keep going. George was behind her against the back window of the cab. The windows were rolled down. This type of mild weather is one of the reasons people apparently love it here. Mira drove past the house of her neighbor Agnes Pengoody who had once explained about the weather- Who wouldnt love it? Were above the fog and below the snow. Agnes has lived in Vanishing River since 1975 when she and her husband decided it was time to go west. Their son was killed in the Korean War and Agnes couldnt stand to live in the house where they had raised him. Some people in that situation would not have been able to let that house go, but Agnes was not the type. The Pengoodys had chosen Vanishing River for its beauty and isolation, and as Agnes had explained The weather here most days? No place I ever been beats it. Mira was cheerfully looking forward to her dinner with Alfonso, and wondering which house might be his. She wondered less fondly about Art, and decided to turn on the radio to drive him out of her head. The station was set to the BBC World Broadcast. The last person to drive this truck was probably Frank. Her camera was with her at all times, but she hadnt taken many shots lately. Her intense observation of the place often precluded her recording it. Outside town she stopped to a take photo of three deer, silhouetted as they grazed near a lone oak. Down a dirt road past the deer, she stopped again to let a rancher on horseback herd his cattle from one

fenced-in area to the other. Along with the dust, the scent of dry grass and oak balls desiccating in the sun wafted through her window. The man waved from atop his speckled horse. Mira kept her finger on the shutter release for multiple exposures as the man closed the gate behind him and his ruddy cattle. The road she had arbitrarily chosen eventually narrowed to a dead end. In front of her was a fence demarcating a sloped pasture with a dilapidated barn in the distance. It looked like the one Frank had used in several photographs that Mira had seen. She hadnt planned to photograph a barn today, but the No Trespassing sign hung there in challenge. In order to reach the barn she had to carefully climb a splintery wooden gate and navigate through cow pies as if it were an agility test. The walk wasnt much of a distance, so she stopped every few yards to capture the barn; a cow lying under an oak, a kestrel hunting aloft. Once she got next to the barn, she realized her best angles were from further away. She turned to go back when into her path cantered a disheveled looking donkey with enormous tufts of fur growing out of his back in random patches. He had a pink scar under one eye and a tail that hung sharply left. Hi, Mister Donkey! Her tone was an idiots attempt at reassurance. She shot a blurry picture of the animal standing in her way, an action which further motivated the subject to step toward her. He huffed loudly and lowered his head. Nice donkey? She sidestepped as he trained his milky eyes on her, dipped his head even lower and stalked forward. She wanted to find a rock or other weaponry but was

rightfully afraid to take her eyes off his. How fast can you run? she politely asked the donkey, stupidly laughing at what was about to happen. In response the creature took a lunging step in her direction and flared his rubbery lips, revealing a set of large yellow choppers. You arent going to bite me are you? she said out loud. The impetus for the question was its own answer. On the left side of the barn she was facing her truck with the donkey directly in her path. She instinctively took several steps backward, keeping her eyes locked with that of the beast. He too seemed to be preparing for something, and may well have been looking for a fight when Mira showed up. Can donkeys kill people? It was a shocking thought, but Mira registered in her bowels the possibility that her premature obituary might inspire laughter instead of tears, or maybe a cringe like the one she had on her face. She walked slowly in reverse as the animal watched, until she reached the back corner of the barn. He was unnaturally still but huffed a few times causing her to wonder when was the right time to run. If this is an ordinary donkey- hell chase me around the barn and Ill be over the fence before he can catch up. However, if this is an extraordinary donkey then hell wait and run the other way round the barn to catch me up the other side. She had played enough hide-and-seek in her life to know that timing was critical to any successful dash for Safe. No matter how fast one was, if one left too early or too late she was bound to be tagged. In Miras mind, tagging in this case meant dead, or at least maimed. Perhaps it was a tactic learned during one

of those childhood games of tag that she was employing when she did a little jig to lure the ass in her direction. Once he fell for the ploy she knew he was not such a smart ass after all. Around the barn she ran with the donkey following behind, gaining on her with every cow pie she sidestepped. She had no idea how close he was, because she was too frenzied to turn her head and lose precious tenths of seconds. She couldnt hear his breathing over the sound of her own and didnt know that he was close enough to be flinging spittle on to the back of her neck. She wrongly assumed he would give up once he realized she was leaving his jurisdiction. When she finally did turn to look at him she was within sliding distance of the fence. Their eyes met and she ascertained no mercy. By combining a running leap with a hysterical scramble- something like a hybrid hurdle/high jump, she made it over the fence, barely cleared the top rail, and glissaded across gravel on the other side. The ragged donkey taunted her from his side of the fence as she peeled her backpack off her leg, where it had clung during mid-air flight. She had escaped and thought she looked somewhat graceful doing it, which was only because she couldnt actually see herself. She was covered in a layer of dust and her hands stung mightily. Back in the truck, with a wave of revulsion she discovered that her palms were needled with large shallow splinters. Suddenly she could feel each one, and hissed at the pain as the areas of flesh around the dark embedded shivers of post begin to go deep purple. Her eyes prickled with tears of pain and anger. Meanwhile, the cocky donkey sauntered off unscathed.

Motherfucker! She sat there for a while, hurting and looked at her eyes in the rearview mirror. Why do you do these things to yourself? Why, Mira? Why?

She drove to town using fingertips only, though what she really wanted to do was go home and never tell a soul what had happened. Reluctantly, she came to the conclusion that she was going to need an extra pair of hands to get the slivers out, the thought of which made her sweaty and light-headed. At the hotel, Bodey looked contrite, even defensive when she came in holding her hands high up in front of her like a kung fu master in the crane pose, ready to deliver a blow. There was no time to for pleasantries or apologies. Im not mad, she was calm, I just need your help. Showing him her hands, which at least didnt look any more hideous than they did initially, was still bad enough. The jagged implanted wood was noticeable in her bruised skin. Bodey was supportive. Shit That looks sssssssst! It is. Very Do you guys know if theres an emergency room or something? Bodeys co-workers had clustered around her and all seemed to recoil simultaneously as the disturbed skin twitched and quivered in front of their eyes. Ill take you, he said glancing at the truck she had driven up in. There are nurses at the church. Its a clinic. They do this kind of stuffEmergency first-aid stuff. Otherwise theres a hospital about an hour from here.

Now that there was someone to take over, tears begin rolling down her face. She got woozy. Can they numb me? Her voice was breaking. I want to be numb. Probably, he said. Want me to take you or not? She nodded miserably. Mira s voice was pitiful as they left the hotel lobby. Thank you, she said. Bodey of course, held the door.

The clinic was situated in a lime-jello green cement block building behind the Kingdom of Heaven. Inside the doors there were four chairs along a wall with a table at one end. Mira dropped into the first one as Bodey went to the front desk for her. On the table next to a plant were a few copies of Red Book, Good Housekeeping, TV Guide, and of course a bible. Mira rested both of her hands face-up in her lap and wore a sufficiently pained expression. Bodey spoke with a nurse who was wearing an old-fashioned nurses cap in a nest of dust brown hair, the top of which could be seen through an opening in the wall. Painted above that opening were the words The lamp of the body is the eye; if therefore your eye is clear, your whole body will be full of light. -Matthew 6:22 The nurse spoke softly, leaning around Bodey to look at the patient. He also turned toward Mira. The nurse said, Well have to get her in and take an assessment as soon as

possible. Mira thought, Yes, please hurry. The lamp of my body is growing dim; Followed by a second, more frantic thought. Im not ready to go in! Bodey sat down next to her. Theyre not going to have you fill anything out yet. They want to look first and make sure it isnt something they should send you to the hospital for. Mira was in agony. The room smelled sickly sterile. Im not sure I could fill anything out right now if I wanted to. As she sat there she tried futilely several times to make fists with her puffy hands. Dont do that, Bodey admonished her. I told em it was pretty badWhat happened anyway? Howd you get those? Its fricken lame. You dont want to know. Dont say those kinds of words in here This is part of the church. Fricken is not a bad word. She rolled eyes involuntarily. Bodey shrugged, Sorry by the way about your house yard whatever It was my friends idea. I dont care Whatever. We used to Mira was going to tell him about how she and her friends used to put obscene homemade bumper stickers on the cars of their nemesis, or used their names and addresses to sign them up as members of the Church of Latter Day Saints or Jehovahs Witnesses, or to receive multiple subscriptions to Doll

Reader magazine- then she stopped herself mid-sentence for two reasons. First, she didnt want to give him or his friends any ideas, and second she realized how much older than him saying the words, We used to made her sound. The door next to the little window opened and a man came through, walking stiffly and carrying a small, stapled bag. The nurse spoke to him, Well see you in two days to redress that, Mr. Willingham. Bless you, the man said as the door closed softly. After a pause, Mira finished her thought, You guys did a good job though. Took us a while to clean it up. Still some there. Couldnt get it all. We? he said. The kids helped me Had to pay them If you do feel really bad, you can reimburse me ten bucks. But, doesnt my visit before that one make up for it? Plus you ignored me at pizza. Finally some banter that would take her mind off of her hands. You ignored me! Whatever, he countered. I wanted to talk to you. Shssh. So what happened anyway? He motioned toward her hands. You fall? In a sense, she replied. Actually no- I remained upright, which I was pretty proud of. This was after I was chased by a psycho mule. Serious? No way! Not as funny as it sounds.

Where were you at? Trespassing lightly. Light trespassing, if you will. I didnt know donkeys were that aggressive. My god, you should have seen this thing. You were out in somebodys field and you didnt know donkeys were agro? They can kick your ass. Step on any land mines? he inspected her shoes by grabbing one booted foot and turning the sole of it up in his direction. No wonder I smelled something. The door next to the window opened again and a nurse with a clipboard stood in the threshold. Mira? she called, and looked around the room. Mira and Bodey were the only ones there. Want me to come in with you? Bodey asked. To Mira it might as well have been the gates of hell. Thats alright, she said. Ill be okay. Go ahead back to work. Id like you to stay, Bodey, suggested the nurse. Or would you be willing to come back, if we need you to drive Ms. Dillen home? All agreed to the second option. The nurse who looked a lot like a puff pastry with eyes ushered Mira into one of two small rooms, and helped her onto crinkly paper stretched over the examination chair. Before this the sight of her hands made Mira light-headed, but now it was the needles and cotton balls on the counter that made her wonder if she might actually pass out. The nurse will be in to see you in just a moment, the nurse told Mira and closed the door behind her.

She had no special feeling toward the nurse, but felt lonely when she left. Mira lay back in the chair, with her palms facing upward, and closed her eyes so the blood would hopefully make its way back into her brain. Another nurse sat on a stool in front of her. Mira bowed her head and rested her hands in the nurses hands, as if in supplication. The nurses voice was sonorous, Here at the Kingdom of Heaven Church, we admit people of all backgrounds, but we do require that patients who are not members, either attend a service or receive counsel from our pastor. Mira nodded absently. To her foggy brain it seemed a harmless request. The nurse went on, Young Lady, what is your relationship with Jesus Christ our Lord and Savior? That snapped Mira out of her haze, and she glanced up at the nurse. Its fine. The reason I ask is that your relationship with Jesus will determine how long it will take your hands to heal after we have helped you with these splinters, she admonished and finally lowered her own head to assess Miras palms. In fact, your relationship with our Lord has a great impact on all areas of your life. Did you know that? Had yours been better, perhaps he may not have needed to punish you this way to get you to visit our church so that I could remind you of this now. Mira croaked, Can you give me something for the pain? Yes, said the nurse. We can get you a little topical here.

A little topical? I was hoping to be under for this! Think I need to go to a bigger hospital? Her vision got starry. Oh, I dont think so, unless you would like to. We can have it taken care of in a little while. Nothing they can do there that we cant do here. And our clinic is free. Were here to spread the word of God, but we also do good work. Ok, Mira relented. Shit. Its just that Im in a lot of pain, and Im wondering if its worse than it looks. No, in fact I dont think its quite as bad as it looks, or feels. She daubed some numbing gel on Miras wounds and opened the door to tell to her assistant that she was going to need a kit. The numbing did help a little, and so did some ice and two pills of something that made Mira feel a little less in her body. Her mind drifted to a time with Art when they attended a matinee of Mission Impossible. This memory then morphed into something that never happened: His fingers in her hair, the bridges of their noses touching. He was so lovely. He reached back to unsnap her bra. It stung for a second and then his lips danced close to hers. He snapped her bra against her skin again and laughed. She reached up to slap him, but she couldnt do it. He bit her lip and slapped her hand hard, a sideways high-five. And again he slapped her hand but this time he kept going like he was trying to force her to play patty cake, hard. Then he was in again close to her neck. She was willing him to lick her neck, but instead he slapped her on the wrist and she woke up reluctantly, sweaty and shivering.

Wearing latex gloves, equipped with tweezers, scalpels, needles, disinfectant, gauze, cotton swabs and a bright hot light, in short a kit, two nurses took turns for over an hour poking, sticking, picking, scraping, and torturing all the large pieces of wood and the majority of the smaller ones, out of Miras hands. In the aftermath, she was splotchy, and exhausted from all the tensing-up. They doused her raw palms with iodine and taped them over with thick squares of gauze. She managed to sign a few forms and on her way out, reluctantly agreeing to attend church the following Sunday, as talking with the pastor had not been an option because he was supposedly busy in an important meeting about business affairs. She never thought of church people dealing with anything business related. The clinic didnt require monetary payment for the services rendered. They even gave her a bible and insisted she keep it, but as the puff pastry had explained, the payment sought was through the worship of the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

You didnt tell me they were going to proselytize. If Id known that I would have driven to the hospital. Now Im supposed to go to church on Sunday! Mira complained as Bodey drove her home. His operation of Franks truck was lurching. Shouldnt you be going anyway? He puffed a cigarette and blew the smoke through a crack in the window. They helped you, didnt they? Plus, you could not have driven an hour by yourself like that.

Yeah, but I shouldnt have to do whatever they say with my weekend. I offered to pay them. They dont know me. Well, then just dont go. Its probably only on the honor system anyway. I thought you were a Christian? She didnt respond except to groan and shake her throbbing paws. You want to smoke a bowl? he offered. Might make you feel better. Thats very generous of you, but Ill take a rain check. They pulled up in front of the Bafflehaus ranch and both of them got out of the truck. Want Lloyd or Kitty to give you a ride home? she asked. Nah, I can walk, or have my friends come get me. Oh thats right. They all know where I live. Dont they? I said I was sorry Im just glad this didnt happen to you while you were cleaning that up or something. Thats what I was afraid of when I saw you. Youre off the hook, Buddy. By the way, thanks for the tomatoes. Welcome. Grew em myself. Did you eat one yet? Theyre really sweet. Best time for tomatoes is ending though, so make sure you eat them. Theyre usually not sweet, the ones you get in stores, because they pick those green. Ill eat tomatoes with my tomato hands. Sure you dont want me to get the Conlons to give you a ride? If I jog itll only take me a few minutes to get back. He watched her struggle with

the knob on her front door. You got that? he asked. Good as new, thanks be to you and Jesus. Amen, he said.

Haley sat on her porch playing with an array of empty food containers and kitchen miscellany: a plastic bowl, a mixing spoon, a whisk, a pair of tongs, a towel, a colander. She looked up as Mira schlepped her shower tote and towel from the outdoor bathroom, across the yard to the main house. She felt like being inside for a bath. Her young friend followed her to the door and stood on the walkway waiting to be addressed, which she wasnt. Mira saw her there, walked around her to get to the door, knowing that aimless conversation would only thwart her ability to reach the warmth of Franks bathtub. She let herself in to the house and closed the door in Haleys face with one foot. While running the bath Mira heard the knocks she expected to follow her disappearance indoors. She ignored them as long she could stand and when it became incessant she finally gave in. Haley looked up at Miras bandages. What happened? Long story. Haley accepted that for the time being. What are you doing now? she asked. I came over to take a bath, and actually Im all set up for it, so I gotta go. Okay?

You understand, right? Can I talk to you while youre in the bath? Like my mom? Haley asked. No one wants to talk to me today. No one. Her shoulders slumped. What did you do? Nothing, but just no one is in the mood for me, my mom says. I dont care. No matter what I say, no one understands what I mean about stuff anyway. Mira had tried to get rid of the kid, but in the end she wasnt ruthless enough. Well, Ill get in and draw the curtain, then you can sit on the toilet seat. Does that still appeal to you? I cant see you when we talk? No, Im not your mom or something. Mira got in and drew the plastic curtain around the tub before calling to Haley. There was one bubble in the curtain where Miras right hand rested on the side of the tub. The bathroom smelled like mineral steam and the lavender bath bubbles her sister had sent. It was dark in there, especially on Haleys side of the curtain because Mira had all the candles with her. They were tea lights that came in the same package with the bubbles, and they didnt throw much light. They sat quietly for a while. The only sound was of the water occasionally moving around Miras body. Can I turn the light on? Haley asked.

Mira told her, This is my bath youve requested sitting in on and I like it with the lights off. Why do you want it dark? Haley asked. Ambiance. Whats that? Mood. Mood? Yeah. Atmosphere. A certain feeling. Did you want to talk about something? Or just talk? There was another pause before Haley asked What is the truth about where people go when they die? Miras eyes swiveled around the interior of the stall she was lying in the bottom of. Her eyes traced the grid of grout between tiles. What the fuck? Where do people go when they die? she repeated evenly. Haleys voice was steady. What do you think happens to them? What makes you think I know? Well, maybe you dont know, but at least you wont try to lie to me. First you tell me what you think happens. But I was asking you. No one wants to just be honest. Ill just leave. Wait. Thats fine, and Ill tell you, but first you tell me. Then I can understand

where youre starting from and then I can make sure my answer makes sense. Thats just so you can say what everybody says. No, its not. OkOk Haley said, picking at her toenails. I think that they go up to heaven but they come back down again to Earth to be other people. Mira eyebrows furrowed. You mean reincarnation. Thats not an answer. What do you mean? Thats what youre saying- when people come back and are born into different bodies. New bodies, like theyre babies again and they dont remember who they were before. Or sometimes they just remember bits and pieces and dont know how they know it. Yes, thats what I mean. How do you write it? R-e-i-n-c-a-r-n-a-t-i-o-n. Reincarnation. Thats interesting you didnt know what it was called, but you knew what it was. I did too. I just couldnt spell it and I didnt know how to say it. Do they have books about it? Im sure there are tons. Where did you hear about reincarnation? Thats what the Indians think, huh? Some of them probably, but not all of them. Dont they believe you come back as animals or something?

Haley shrugged on the other side of the curtain. Mira poured water over herself with a big plastic cup. I think its what happened to me. At this, Haley had turned the conversation, forgetting that she ever wanted to know what Mira thought in the first place. Mira stopped ladling. You do? You were reincarnated? The room was heavy in agreement. What makes you think that? I just think it. Both were quiet. Haley was done. She said she had never admitted this out loud to another human being, not even Clement. But why? Do you remember things or something? She could hear Haley hoisting herself into a different position on the toilet seat, her feet barely touched the floor. Are you leaving? I think it might be time for my dinner, and I didnt tell my mom I was here. One of these days will you tell me why you think youre reincarnated? she asked Haley. Haley nodded forgetting that Mira could only hear her. So, what do you think happens? Haley asked again. Mira considered whether or not to soften her opinion. What I think isnt as nice as what you think. So? So? I guess I havent said it out loud before either. Nothing She splashed

her foot into the water. I think nothing happens when you die. Youre just dead and thats it Everything goes black and you never know about another thing. Its peaceful only because you stop feeling anything. Then you get buried or burned into ashes. Okay, Haley said and climbed down off the toilet seat. They both heard Kitty calling from next door. You better go, Mira said. So, Haley left with the door wide open behind her.

Chapter 11
Brassai times his long exposures by smoking cigarettes- when his smoke was out, he closed the shutter. --Duane Michals

Alfonso brought Mira to his small house by the creek. His employer owned several houses and let Alfonso live in one as part of his pay. From the outside it looked dilapidated. They parked and walked up the front path, shady with evergreens that bordered the property. In the middle of the yard stood an over-arching apple tree with leaves that stole

whatever was left of the sunlight on the grass. It was only a green strip that dipped away from the house down to the rivers edge a few hundred yards away. There is flood damage, he told her as they entered through a meshed porch with a swinging loveseat hanging from one tenuous beam. There was the smell good food inside. Alfonso had been cooking for most of the afternoon. You told me you had had enough pasta for another life, right? Yes, enough for one life. Even though it is one of my specialties, pasta- but I instead made you quesadillas and enchiladas. Are you serious? Italians your specialty?... Im Italian, well part Italian. Yes? I love lasagna and chicken parmesan; all of that. She inhaled the scent of the enchiladas baking as he went to work checking things and putting them aside. But I think you will also like what Ive made. Mexican food is not your specialty Well, I guess I couldnt usually compete with my mother, so I found a new type of food to surprise her with. I once wanted to be a chef of Italian food. His living room was tiny, and there were two bedrooms and a bathroom, all with the doorways off the main room. The kitchen was at the right corner of the square building and it became a laundry room before opening into the back yard. The living room was not as sparse as she imagined full of books, and stacks of paper held down by rocks. A lamp

was raised off an end table by reams of loose-leaf paper held together with rubber bands. A fishing rod and creel with flies tied to it stood in the corner by the door next to a hat rack, on which hung the cowboy hat she saw that day on the hook at the diner. She touched the brim and then checked to make sure he hadnt seen her. There were three half-melted candles in coke bottles standing on the mantle, over which was a clock of Jesus holding a lantern and knocking on a door at night. He came up next to her. Hermoso. It is beautiful, no? The fact that he announced it as beautiful proved its inability to convey that on its own. The fact that he loved it anyway made her smile. Mmm, yes. Gorgeous. What can I get you for drink? Waters fine. Good choice, corazon. It comes up from a well and is very pure. He drew Mira a glass of water so clean it tasted sweet. What is sweet in Spanish? Dulce. When he handed her the glass he got a better look at her bandages, and was subsequently treated to a fine story about the liability of impromptu exploration. A toast, to the girl who survived the burro. They devoured the enchiladas, rice, beans, and salad, with Alfonso making promises of chile rellenos, tacos, and tamales in the future. Mira promised him spaghetti, forgetting momentarily that Italian was his strong suit. She quickly retracted the offer, replacing it with the next foolish thing she pictured herself

presenting him. A pie! She had no clue how she had actually just upgraded the difficulty of her task. Pie had been so easy to say. Easy as pie. Ill use apples from your tree! Really, Mira? He was so impressed that he marched them both right outside to collect a bushel, not knowing that this pie would never come to fruition. That evening they talked, never reaching the end of any topic. He was hungry for stories about life in New York City. She talked about the plays and museums shed been to, her nights out at clubs and restaurants. She ended up telling him everything she had ever done that could be thought of as quintessentially New York. Its not as great as you think. Even when Im there Im aware of how stressful it is. You want to live there? No, I dont think so, but I would like to see it one day. I will eventually return to Mexico if I can. That is my hope. Here I want to earn enough money and connections, and gain citizenship, so that one day I can possibly return to my country and have a relation with the U.S. and become a rich businessman. Mira looked at him surprised, and started imagining herself in a beautiful villa in Mexico, surrounded by painted terracotta tiles and ferns overhanging fountains. In her mind she was wearing a full skirt and sandals and twirling around in circles. No actually, the truth, Mexico can be dangerous for such successes. I would just like to own a small ranch of my own and live by selling the cattle. A small herd. Well, then I think youll probably be rich anyway.

In the living room Alfonso had to clear papers from the coffee table so they had somewhere to set their drinks. What is all this about? she asked looking at the stacks of paper around them. Oh. Back in Mexico I studied biology. It is still very much my interest. He went to his closet and pulled a box off of one of the shelves. Would you like to have a refresher course for chess? I told you I wasnt very good at it the first time I learned. I doubt I will have improved with my lack of practice. Thats okay. I wont mind winning. So, Biology? I keep up on current research. Im still studying it in my own time. There is a lot of rich biology here. Im particularly interested in rare species of insect you have in this river. Here? Oh yes, there are great many unique varieties around. But, right now Im doing research about a rare mayfly that was thought extinct in the western region of North America. It could definitely receive attention nationally if it turns out to be what I think it is. Thats exciting. A mayfly? I will show you what is so exciting about them in May. That is when it happens. Do you think you will be here then?

May, hence the name. I think Ill be. These mayflies will hatch from their larval state and crawl out of the water. In a few hours their wings become so large that they cannot fold them in. Theyll fill the sky, mate with each other, the females will spread their eggs along the riverbed. Then by the time the night is through, theyll all die. His hands motioned like a blessing and then fell into his lap as he finished the narrative. She could envision the scene. So, they get one great night, and then its over. Yes, he said, And visually it could be quite spectacular. Right? Spectacle? You must stay to see it. Alfonso got up to adjust the curtains when the sunlight got into their eyes, then he switched on a lamp. It depends on how long it takes for me to finish with Franks catalog raisonne. Lets see, that is Mira counted on her fingers. That is about six months from now. She shrugged. Could happen. She had forgotten how good it felt to spend an evening with another person. It occurred to her to tell him how much better this was than hanging out alone with George, but then caught herself. Toward the end of their chess game, Alfonso had started moving Miras pieces for her after her hands began to hurt. He finally tired of asking Are you sure? before placing her pieces in harms way. For the third time in three games, he declared Check. Gano otra vez. But after so many wins, all the triumph had gone out of him. At least it took you a lot longer to win this time, she said cheerfully.

You are improving, he reassured her. Having you here is a nice thing. It gets lonely when its just me and Jesus. They both looked up at the clock. It was almost ten. She had been there for almost five hours. I know what you mean, now she had to say it. George and I run out of things to talk about. What do you mean? Mira had embarrassed herself with this joke. And then Alfonso added, I think George makes excellent company! I wont tell him you said that.

In Alfonsos bathroom was a razor, a bar of deodorant soap, a toothbrush and toothpaste on a sparkling countertop, a bottle of Tums, and a bottle of aspirin. That was everything in there, besides the roll of toilet paper Mira was using part of. She noticed how much her hands hurt and how much yellowish blood plasma there was on the gauze. She needed to go home. Luckily she had finished peeing when a horrible high-pitched squeal came from the back yard. She ran to the living room where Alfonso sat calmly on his sofa arranging chess pieces into the box. What was that? she said. That? That was raccoons fighting over our scraps.

It sounds like theyre killing each other. If you get between them and their enchiladas, they will challenge you. He put up his claws. Yes. I have heard stories but Mira, please. You will not be taken down by a raccoon. Mira mimicked pulling a raccoon off her neck. Alfonso began to laugh as she incrementally increased the violence of the dramatized struggle until she sensed she had begun to look unattractive. Mira took her sweatshirt from the hook near the fly-fishing rod. I forgot to ask you about your pole. She smiled to herself. Do you fish? His car keys were in the same hand he used to hold the pole out in front of them. Yes trawling actually. We always caught something. But its been years. I love to fly-fish. I will take you. Then I need to teach you something - otherwise our friendship will be unbalanced. He opened the car door and helped her in. Have you ever been skiing? I know there are supposed to be some great slopes around here in winter. Ive heard anyway. No I have not, but I think I might be fearful of traveling on frozen ice. Well, its true. It can be dangerous. But it isnt ice- its soft fluffy snow. Mira

remembered her brother and how he had fallen and hit his head while he was learning to ski. He was very young at the time and she was trying to make him her protg, even though she was only two years older. She encouraged him to continue through the pain, explaining to him that he would only get better at skiing if he didnt give up. He had tried so hard to please her that day. It wasnt until the end of the evening when they returned to the cabin that their mother noticed the way his pupils were dilated and how he was slurring every few words. He had skied all day with a concussion and Mira still gets tearful when she thinks of it. It had become a family joke when he blamed his sister for his lagging academic achievement. She said to Alfonso, Maybe we better not go then If youre not sure. You could teach me to take photographs, and maybe to develop them also. I always wanted to learn about that. I would love to. Photography 101 with Professor Dillen. I stood in for my instructor a few times in college. We could definitely do that. Everything is digital now though. Maybe work on that? Traditional Mexican folk music blared from his stereo, replete with horns and accordions. The tires crunched along the gravel at the edge of the road and the fragrance from the pines drifted through the open window. It was a cool night and Mira planned on sleeping under a heavy blanket. Alfonso said, Autumn is coming, it is almost too late for fly-fishing, but I think we

can get in one good effort before, if we go soon. Does it snow in town here in winter? I heard it doesnt snow much. Up there in the mountains it does, but here we might get a few flakes, or a light layer perhaps. I think they only have one big snow storm here on record. Blizzard, back in the eighties, like I think 1982. It was their local record. There was a terrible bus accident. Have you seen the memorial? She recalled Haley and Clements skit, and the scrapbook back at the house. No, but I guess it was a pretty big deal for people around here. Several people who still live in town, lost children in that accident. Alfonsos face appeared blue in the dashboard light.

f/11

You found this in the scrapbook. Not counting the school pictures, it is the only snapshot in there, besides one of members of the search and rescue team. The ink has faded, and you have to squint your eyes to see the image clearly, as its printed on yellowing newsprint. Its of a large white van leaning hard on a Douglas fir. To be fair, you note that the van can barely be seen, as the tree, the ground, as well as the van itself, are enshrouded in a dense mantle of snow. Many footprints have tramped around the scene by this time, but for hours and days there had been no one. You can scarcely make out a dark side-window for the front passenger seat. There seems to still be glass in this one, but the rest of windows along the vans side are caves of snow. Almost all the windows in the

boxy vehicle were broken out when it rolled over three times into the ravine alongside the road. It was January 4th, 1982, and the storm was well underway when the group headed back from their annual winter sled day for the Christian Church School of the Brethren, in Vanishing River. It was not a freak storm, they had expected it to come, but no one knew it would be the worst snowstorm in this part of the Sierra Nevada in recorded history. It was in fact, the second heaviest snowfall in a 24-hour period, in the United States. In the forest where the party of nine children, ranging in age from 4 to 11, and three adults, quickly gathered up, counted down, and loaded into their vehicle, the snow would fall about one foot in less than an hour. At the last moment that morning, the pastor, whod driven the kids, and the husband and wife who went as chaperones, had decided they neednt go as far as they usually went to Arnold, because snowfall had been heavy that year and there was no need to go but a few miles north of town for a day of good fun. It ended when the snow came suddenly and they departed, leaving some of their sled disks behind. Those disks, and the body of the pastor, who was thrown deep into the ravine as the van tumbled, would not be found until early that spring. He was a careful, conscientious planner, but this trip had been planned by a parishioner and not as thoughtfully as he would have done himself. In addition, three of the oldest most energetic children had been allowed just one more run. The pastor was also a

skilled driver, but on this day, the remote road was getting covered so quickly that hed hurried. He intended to drive everyone to safety, but instead, they hit a patch of ice and the van slipped to the left and turned over like a raft on high water. The snow muffled the sounds of crunching metal, even to the terrified passengers inside. When the vehicle finally landed in the tree growing from the slope, the pastor had been expelled through the driver side-window. The husband and wife, both suffering internal injuries, sat one on top of the other, in the corner, under a pile of children veiled in shock and blood. The snow immediately began pouring in on the wounded troupe through the gaping window holes. All nine children were alive, and aside from a few broken bones, they were all intact. Seeing how the van was precariously perched in a tree, and sorrowfully absent of its driver, the group huddled together in the scarce shelter of the vehicle for several hours trying to calm their nerves and think. All the while they prayed intensely for the snow to stop and help to arrive. Stupidly, the van was equipped with only enough extra blankets and food for half the number of people inside. These souls had little to sustain them for the days ahead. A steady diet of prayer and the warmth of bodies would be all they had until help arrived. The snow fell through the afternoon and when the clan did not return to the church parking lot in Vanishing River so the kids could receive the warm meals and evenings by the fire their parents had planned, concern arose like fever. However, serious search parties could not be dispatched until the severe weather conditions subsided. Conditions which

would last nearly two days. After a full night of frigid angst, the morning arrived and the demolished vehicle remained dark inside. The snow fell in heavy flurries and the occasional breaks encouraged the injured adults to attempt a journey to town on foot. They knew they were only five miles away, at most. Having left much of their scant winter gear for the children, the two had little protection from the murdering cold. The snowdrifts up to nine feet high by the middle of the second day were too overwhelming and both succumbed to hypothermia, two and a half miles from town. Rescue vans and helicopters would pass the bodies of the two martyrs, blue and covered in snow, many times as they traveled to and from where the group was expected to have gone. After three days, the snow stopped falling. In a gruesome discovery, the couple whod trekked out would be uncovered by the snowplow on the fourth day. It wasnt until the fourth evening that a cracked treetop was spotted by a search helicopter, and the van was finally found. Of the nine children in the accident, only one would survive the ordeal, surrounded by the bodies of those who froze, thereby providing her with the insulation to survive for one more hour. She was only four years old, and would be pulled from the van in surprisingly good condition. She would be treated at the hospital for exhaustion, hypothermia, and dehydration. And she would lose two toes on her right foot to frostbite.

Chapter 12
The mission of photography is to explain man to man and each man to himself. --Edward Steichen

That Sunday morning, people trickled in rivulets toward the cafeteria building on the church grounds. The actual chapel for the Kingdom of Heaven Church hadnt been big

enough to hold its congregation since the late 70s. Arriving too late to see the onslaught, Mira mistakenly entered the old chapel. This was after signing in at the clinic on a line next to the word Advisement. It was a small, graceful room with four stained-glass windows only large enough to depict Jesus birth in a ubiquitous style. Dark wooden pews lined up in front of an intricately carved pulpit that grew like a tree from the middle of a stage covered in dark-red carpeting. A staircase at the back led to the balcony that housed an organ. A sign at the bottom of the stairs advertised choir practice every Wednesday night. Mira hummed and her voice resonated throughout the room. The cafeteria/multi-purpose building was an uninspiring room by comparison. Because of this, church members had it decorated with quilts showing scenes from the Bible, macram banners with scripture woven in to them, glitter paint on felt, painted wooden letters glued to boards spelling out the words Rejoice, Worship, and Praise. The churchs leaders were adamant that congregational monies were not to be spent on temporary decoration for a temporary gathering place. They intended any day to choose a building site on which to erect a grand structure worthy of Gods glory, and large enough to accommodate all his followers in Vanishing River and the surrounds. Mira sat in the most rear seat possible of the multi-purpose room on a plastic stackable-chair, the kind that squealed when you shifted your weight. Each chair had a hymnal and a verse book resting on it. The room was full, and with an estimated capacity of about four hundred and fifty

people, some of whom she recognized, but didnt know. She smiled politely to her neighbors on the left and the right, tried her best to follow along with the hymns, wondering at the same time what in the hell she was doing actually there. Later, the sermon given by Pastor Billy Rubin was on the subject of ones duty to serve God. Pastor Rubin wore a long white robe with a gold sash over the collar that draped to his knees. He was a slender man with a surprisingly booming voice, inflected with unctuous tone. Though young, his hairline had receded behind his ears, and he wore what was left short. He reminded Mira thought one of her high school science teachers who was fired for taking some of the older girls in school out to bars. Pastor Rubin explained that only through service to God can we earn the right to enter His kingdom at the end of our short stay on the planet. Earth is not to be our focus, in this life, he explained to the congregation. That would be a grave mistake. We are here only to be of service to our Lord in the short time we have, so that we may spend our eternity in his beautiful palace. Every time Pastor Rubin came to a word he really wanted to emphasize he drew out its enunciation and then lingered in the silence that followed. He told the gathered populace that we are flawed as humans, we are sinners by nature, and we will never be able to achieve all that He expects and prays of us. No matter what we do, we can never be good enough for God. Even if we believe we are without fault. During the silence people seemed to be thinking about themselves, their own religiosity, their sins, their trespasses. He continued saying that we as humans had a huge

job ahead to live more righteously in the eyes of God than we were currently in the habit of. Nothing we do, or strive to do, will ever suffice for the sacrifices he has made for us. But you know what my good people? He loves you anyway You will forsake Him. You will disappoint Him. You will do wrong by Him. Day in and day out you will take His love for granted and do just as you please You will try to satisfy only yourself or to indulge children or demanding spouses. You will lie, act without courage or faith or resolve. You will be vain and slothful, and gluttonous, but ...He will love you anyway. He will love you for who you are in all your shameful flaws and through all your regrettable actions and mistakes He will always love you, no matter how imperfect you are. The pastor looked benevolently at the crowd, many of whom stared sheepishly into their bibles. Can you believe that? Isnt that amazing? He took a breath. There were tears in his eyes. What can you do that you arent doing now to serve God better? Will you be ready for the Rapture? Are you praying enough? Are you asking forgiveness for your sins? Are you showing enough kindness and compassion for fellow human beings? If you arent doing these things you need to take a good hard look at yourself and pray to the Lord Jesus to forgive you, and you need to start today, this minute, being a better Christian. You need to be setting an example as a good Christian for all these kids here if youre an adult. And if you are a child, you need to be showing God and your parents that you are determined not to be damned to hell with bad behavior or poor performance in school, your laziness, your cruelty. You have a responsibility to yourself and to your Lord to do the best

that you can with what he has granted you in this life, even though you will never match up with his noble expectations of you. You will never fully meet with His approval, but you know what?He loves you anyway. Andisnt that amazing? Tears fell onto the pastors cheek. Mira could hear Amen, and Praise the Lord, as people agreed with the pastor. Amazing, she said aloud. Halfway through the service she began praying for some things she wanted, but they werent forgiveness or guidance. She was full of pity. Pity for herself, for the ways she felt she had been shortchanged in her life. She prayed to be a cooler person and to be more beautiful physically. She prayed for the missing section of her foot to be miraculously replaced so that she could wear strappy summer sandals, and get pedicures, or just go barefoot in the presence of others without feeling ashamed. Now, these were prayers. She prayed for more confidence and wisdom, and she prayed just to get the fuck out of this church service. Amen be to Jesus. Before she finished she put in one more prayer, more like a wish actually, that Zarah would awaken with a sudden, severe, and permanent facial disfigurement. Amen. Oh, this praying is nice. She continued, praying that Art could want her the way she wanted him. In reality, she didnt know how he felt about her. (The truth is that Art had always cleverly obscured this information.) But, she was pretty sure that she did know how he didnt feel. He didnt admire her. She didnt meet with his approval. It was ironic that she could talk to him about pretty much anything except for the one subject most intriguing in her life In her whole entire life: His feelings

about her. Admitting her fascination of him, to him, would be far beyond her psychological limits. She wondered if she could have done it even if he had posed her with a direct question. Do you love me? she pictured imploring him. Even in her imagination she cant get him to respond truthfully. Without the courage to resolve unresolved emotions she automatically suffered in a self-imposed limbo as both the coward and the fool. If she had the courage to express her feelings to Art, no matter what his reaction, at least she wouldnt feel like a coward; A fool and a reject maybe, a loser for sure, but not a coward. After an hour and a half the service finally ceased. An older female elder of the church stood erect next to Rubin and read the announcements. She wore a light blue dress with a sailor collar and a pair of brown nurse shoes that reminded Mira of coffee-flavored marshmallows. Her face was made up to mimic the vigor of the youth; Eyebrows penciled in an overly dramatic arch, and bubblegum cheeks. There will be a meeting directly afterward for anyone interested in joining the choir which is in need of new members, she read. As you can see we were not able to enjoy their angelic voices as we usually do, because weve lost some participants to other commitments. So please help us fill out our ranks. I can tell anyone who may be interested that the experience is well worth it. Pastor Rubin suggested that this would be one great way of demonstrating devotion to God. If you were planning on participating in our yearly pageant, or you have a young lady at home who is, please be reminded that the deadline for completing your entry form is

Friday of next week. She went on to ask that everyone please remain in their seats after contributing to the collection plate. What she had to say next was very important. As you know the members of the Kingdom of Heaven business council have been interested for quite some time in acquiring land on which to build a new church. We are very happy to announce today that a church in the valley has expressed interest in buying some property very close to us here, on which they would like to erect a single retreat center and a new Kingdom of Heaven Church! Nothings been signed, of course, but were in negotiations right now. I will tell you that they are very interested and are going to be making some visits to our church and to Vanishing River! Pastor Rubin interjected, We are honored to host their representatives next weekend at our services. So, if you have any inspired ideas about how to make them feel at home, please see Fay here, after the conclusion of the service. We are compiling a list of those model families interested in hosting our guests for an evening in their homes. Remember, this is a very important joining of forces, as the people of the Blessed Faith Community have the resources to make our dream an even greater success then we ever thought possible. It certainly is by the grace of God that we have this opportunity. Let us not fritter it away. The church worker bees began buzzing with excited conversation, hurrying to the queen bee with questions about the prospect of a new facility. Mira urgently searched for a

clear avenue to the doorway, suffocated by the smell of heavy cologne and mothballs. A sign for bingo night next to the door exclaimed Win Big! and she aimed straight for it in her escape.

Chapter 13

The magic of photography is metaphysical. What you see in the photograph isnt what you saw at the time. The real skill of photography is organized visual lying. --Terence Donovan

He was slurping from a dish when she came in. Squash soup? Big Lou offered Mira. No, thats okay. Just came to tell you about something. Her eyes snooped around the room. He motioned her to a chair at the table next to him. Mind if I finish? Of course, go ahead. Big Lous house looked something like Alfonsos only bigger, with hardwood floors and furniture beautifully made and unusual, at first glance. Except for one clear table, luminous in the center of the room, miscellaneous objects

occupied every other horizontal surface: a bird carved from a burl with painted wings and glass beads for eyes, a bright green tea tin, a jumble of baskets (none completely woven), a jar of marbles next to a jar of pennies, a Mexican terracotta box, an ancient Coca-cola bottle caked inside with dirt. On top of the bookshelf was a shuffle of framed pictures, a halfdead geranium, a stone carving of a coyote, a box of cereal- the bag unfolding out of the top, and a Ziploc bag stuffed tight with rags smudged with furniture polish. This table is gorgeous, she cooed, running her finger tips along its glowing panels. A woodworker by trade, Big Lou explained that he had made it himself. At one point I thought I had been chosen to be a shaman, but my grandmother was wrong. Couldnt do it. Never had a vision. Kept with the woodworking instead. He explained how his furniture was made in agreement with nature. He created all the designs himself, and then built and finished them by hand. He told her the story of how he became inspired by a dream to construct furnishings in harmony with nature. Closest thing to a vision hed ever had. He explained how he had had a dream about a man sent away from his tribe to settle new land with nothing but a few bits of clothing to protect him. He reached a place where he could go no further with his lack of necessities. Big Lou recited. He stopped where there were some stones to sit on, and one tree for shade in the summer and shelter from the wind and rain in winter. There were no other trees on the landscape as far away as he could see, and that was for miles and miles.

The man in Big Lous dream sat under the towering pine, and some days he would climb up into its limbs for a lookout or shelter, but it never fully offered him the protection he needed. Big Lou spoke with feeling as he continued to explain the dream. The man began to suffer from exposure with nowhere to lay his head but on the cold ground. He decided he would have to sacrifice his beloved tree to save his own life, though he felt sick about doing it. He was killing someone that had humbly protected him the only way she could. He made two sacred promises to the spirit of that tree, Big Lou raised his fingers. Then he went to work. He carefully collected all the pine needles from the branches, once he felled it. He collected all the pinecones too, put them in separate piles. Over the next several weeks, out of that one tree, the man in my dream constructed a small home, furniture: a table, and a bed and chair, in both of which he used the pine needles to stuff the upholstery made of fabric he created using rocks to pound the soft green wood of the trees core. He made bowls and utensils for the kitchen, he even used the bark to cover his floor, and the roots of the tree for a broom to sweep it with. He chopped the lesser quality wood and stacked it to dry out so that he could burn it in the simple stone fireplace, for warmth, over the frigid winter months. After he was finished working, and no scrap of the tree remained unused, he had fulfilled his first promise to that pine. The man rested more peacefully then he ever had before in his life, inside his comfortable new shelter. When he awoke the next morning he ate a breakfast of pine nut

bread and then packed the remaining pinecones into a sack. He then set out to fulfill his second promise to that generous tree. He spent days and days away from his new home scattering pinecones across the countryside, and the following year, the once barren landscape turned green with the foliage of her offspring. By the end of the telling Big Lous eyes were closed. He explained that this dream had inspired him to become that man in his waking hours, and he now had plenty of paying customers. What do you get for your money? he asked Mira rhetorically. A complete set of matching furniture, all cut from the wood of a single tree. More than just a conversation piece, he claimed, Its the best way to bring harmony to your environment. You want Feng shui? He nodded to the table. I retain one requirement beyond monetary payment for my work. I ask that my customers participate by spreading the seeds of their tree, as an offering to it for its sacrifice. I have a few celebrity customers, you know? He bragged as he ladled himself more soup. Cher. Yeah? Brad Pitt and his wife, you know? Which wife? He has more than one? Well, he has an ex. You know, Jennifer- and well, Angelina. Well, actually Im not sure if theyre married yet. I need a new People.

Oprahs another one Made her bedroom set. One of her bedrooms, anyway. Four-poster. Pair of matching night stands, rocking chair, dresser, bench, desk I think maybe I squeaked out a tray, too. Mira finally interrupted him. I heard something today at the church that I thought you should know. Thats why I came. Ive heard this already, he stated calmly, blowing on a spoonful of soup. You have? He nodded. I know already. They sat for a moment, Mira scratched something off the hem of her shirt. They have someone interested in buying it out from under us. He tipped his chair back so that he could slump and still be able to see her. We usually dont conflict with them. Miras face was long. What do you thinkll happen? Well do what we can, Mira. Without money there are limitations of course, but we have some options were exploring. She leaned her elbows on the table with her cheek against the back of one hand. What happened here? he noticed her bandages, which were fewer and fewer each day. One area the nurses had struggled with continued to fester, but the rest of her palms were scabbed over. I jumped over a fence wrong. She held her hands open so he could look at them.

Good girl! I wouldnt guess that kind of thing from you. Well, actually I was being chased. I wasnt just out leaping over fences for fun. Chased? Her expression conveyed her own disapproval. A donkey. Ohhh, he grinned wide trying to restrain a laugh. But he laughed anyway before he turned his attention back to the soup. Al Wilders mule. I dont know who the hell he belonged to, but he was ornery. She shook her head trying to forget. Hes crazy. Wilders Wildebeest. Some old mules act like that. You didnt know? You dont mess with them. She leaned back in the chair and held up her hands again. Then she took a deep breath. Does it look like that to you? Al Wilders; Thats where you were. He pointed at her. Tell me, Mira. Where did you hear about the church wanting to buy the land? Do you attend? She fidgeted with a corner of the tape on her palm, picking lint off the adhesive. Actually its another part of the same stupid story. A friend took me to that clinic at the church to get fixed up- with the splinters, you know?One of their requirements was that I attend a church service. Can you believe that? Ive been to that clinic. Theyre good people, those nurses. They never asked me to go to their church though. Maybe membership is selective. Big Lou used the crust of his

bread to wipe up the remains of the liquid in his bowl. Then he added the dish to the pile in the sink. If you werent here I would lick this bowl. Thanks for not doing that, she went on. Anyway, they want to get up a group of people to be a welcoming committee to the church interested in the land. Big Lou paused. For when? Next Sunday theyll be at the church. He walked to the sink and back to the table to scrape crumbs into his hand. Mira started, She said Who? Some woman. Older woman. Fake eyebrows. Fay. She said this out-of-town church wants to see if this community is a match for their retreat project. Big Lou nodded to himself and stared off. Thats all I can tell you But if I hear more They sat awkwardly for a moment. This is why I dont trust a lot of the people in the white community They turn on you suddenly for no reason. No warning. Not you of course, but You know I dont even keep a bank account? Especially not around here. The banks in this town are cursed. I dont think we even have one anymore. I wouldnt use it if we did. But I should shut my mouth. What do they say? The walls have ears?

Thats what they say. She looked at the clock. It was two. Youll stay for coffee?" She nodded. "Tell me, Mira. When I met you, that night, you may not remember so well. You were pretty sad. Yeah and drunk. Im pretty sure. Big Lou began assembling the accoutrement for a pot of coffee, placing two mugs and sugar bowl on the table in front of them, then he went back for a third mug. In case Jo gets home. Is that your roommate? Housemate. Nice lady. Got a couple kids. Stay with their father most of the time. Mira was pushing back her cuticles. She does the horseshoeing round town. Really in demand. You met her once out on the land. Remember? She was a little pissed off that day. Mira arranged four mugs into a clover as she spoke. She thinks Jeremy and I, or Frank, who I never even met, are like buddies or something. Are you sure shes not going to be mad that Im here? He returned to the table. She was just pissed off that day. So what ever happened with that guy? The one that ended up in the tree?

No. The guy you were talking about that night we walked you home. The one who caused you all the drinking. Oh, Art? Mira sighed heavily. Whatever. I only heard from him the one time when I called him. Told you about that. It sounded like he had a new girlfriend or something. He was your boyfriend? We spent a lot of time togetherand whatnot he was never my boyfriend, I guess. Per se." "Does that embarrass you?" "Embarrass me? Well, its embarrassing to feel bad about it. Like Im not entitled to feel bad. You know? You loved him? Desired him? Mira laughed at the distinction. "What's the difference?" "There is a big difference. One is physical and the other is emotional." "Well, of course. Then both I guess. Probably more desire. I wanted to end up with him. Thats all I know. And his not wanting me makes me want him more. Still. Isn't that sick?" Sick? No. You had strong feelings if you loved him, then you are entitled. Love, or desire for that matter, doesnt have rules for what you can grieve or not. The only rule for it is no rule. No guidelines.

If any of it has rules, she said, I dont know what they are, so maybe youre right. But I feel like you have to be with a person officially- you know? To love them officially. Big Lou laughed. Ive never heard of that before. Mira was not embarrassed as she should have been. I dont know. Clearly. The problem is its like the feelings I had made me think I would eventually receive something for them in return. Its so weird; Selfish. So, I guess thats not love, right? Stupid ideas girls grow up with or whatever. Not necessarily. Desire can make us crazy. I just wanted reciprocation. I wanted it so bad. Outside the breeze was strengthening, causing leaves on Big Lous patio to eddy. He got up to close the window over the kitchen sink. Maybe he did reciprocate. Youre a beautiful girl. Why wouldnt he want you? Mira blasted air through her lips. Thanks, but... Obviously he didnt. I know he didnt. Thats also why its ridiculous of me to feel this hurt by it all. He never even thought of me that way in the first place. You can have love and desire and it doesnt result in a union. You dont need someones permission to feel love for them. Sometimes it is just exists. Sometimes it goes away, and sometimes it never goes away. Unreciprocated desire though, seems like it never goes away.

Mira agreed, adding a platitude that seemed to fit. We always want what we can't have. A truer thing was never said. You can also have a union without having both love and desire that lasts forever. And you can have a union with both that still might not last. Mira pictured Art. She felt her chest being corseted. For me right now the feelings wont go away fast enough. The coffee pot burbled and dripped. The sliding glass window rattled, followed by the dry spatter of dust against the pane. We have hope for things, Big Lou said, because were trying to understand what it is we want and what we can have at the same time. Its complicated. She replied, Yep, and felt like putting her head down. There is always a fine line to be walked between expectations and reality. It was just a fantasy. Thats all. I never actually thought I could have him, most likely. I just wanted him so bad. If wanting something bad could result in having it, then hed be mine. Regardless, Mira you cannot have anyone That is a misconception to get rid of. People arent ours. I guess its a romantic idea, but not to my taste. Marriage and union for life are sweet ideas to some, but they are nothing more than fantasies we live for periods at a time to keep us from feeling alone. Mira cringed. It seemed like a dark thing for him to say.

So you were right then, he continued, It is a fantasy, but it was always a fantasy. Yet we arent alone in the world. Feeling that were alone is also something we imagine to ourselves. Im not happy to admit it, but Ive had my heart broken many times. I thought you just said you didnt believe in that sort of thing. I didnt say that. Giving your heart is a courageous act. Trying to possess anothers heart is cowardly and based on fear. So you think marriages cant work, then? Or unions or whatever. I did at one time believe in what is not possible. It is how I know what I am telling you. I wanted to keep a certain person near me all of my life. To marry her in a physical and spiritual sense- but it was only because I was afraid. And that made her afraid, and I lost her. I didnt understand why at the time, but now I do. I have forgiven her, and myselfwhich is probably more important. Now, anyway I want to believe in what is possible. And that is? Love for everyone; Desire for everyone and everything. Not just for one person, who is not equipped, as no one is, to accept every bit of the love from another person. We have so much more inside us than just love for one person. He got up for the coffee, which had dripped to a full pot. She rested her forehead on the back of both hands again, fingers interlaced. This is so depressing Like clouds in my coffee, clouds in my coffee. The point is, he continued, love and desire are present everywhere. To focus it

all in one place or on one person is a mistake no matter how you look at it. I know, for me, if love is with one person that we want to be with, and can be, together all the time, then so be it, but to expect that and to search for that, and to force that, is something full of heartbreak. Young people are driven to do it. It is programmed into our brains for the purposes of procreation. He pointed a finger at his temple, We believe what we need to believe for those purposes. But as we grow older we see love in so many different forms that we He stopped talking for a moment and stirred his coffee. She poured three scoops of sugar into her mug, That we what? That we dont look for it in just one way anymore. He took a tentative sip. Love like that makes you idealize one person so that they can fulfill all your needs, and that is just not possible. Then we can miss out on all the other loves. Mira agreed, Of course, no one person can be everything. And I guess what youre saying is that its egotistical to want your admiration returned. Here, I thought it was just natural. I must be crazy. Im not being sarcastic. I really must be crazy. You are not crazy. It is natural. The ego is part of the human mind. Yes, but everyone wants that, right? Love, or to be desired or whatever. Yes, but in what way? These things are not only sexual and exclusive. He added more cream to his coffee; It seemed he was endlessly doctoring it. Mira began to see why she couldnt picture telling Art she loved him. The corset loosened. Youre definitely right. Its not only sexual. But I dont want to come home, like

I do now, and have it be only me. I like the way I was challenged by Art. I liked the way I was always trying to be better to please him. She held her mug and felt its warmth on her sore palms. But, that means he was either never pleased Or you were really just enjoying pleasing yourself. She hadnt thought of it that way and sat quietly as it seeped in. Or maybe I just felt bad about myself because he never seemed fully-pleased. Those pure intentions of yours are a very attractive quality, Mira, he declared. If you want those things you might be able to draw them to you. But what you are talking about can be separate from romance and lust. Those things can be found in companions too. And sometimes those companions come and go in our lives, or sneak up on us from behindthe same with lovers. Not all lovers make good companions, either. You probably already know that. Im sure you do But you have hope and that right there is admirable. Just dont expect to find this love that will last forever. Youll be happier when you come to terms with that. She sipped from her mug. I feel like such a loser. He shook his head. Stop saying that type of thing. From what you said before, you had a fantasy, thats all- but you never thought it would be real. Maybe you just wanted to put your love somewhere and that was who you had in front of you. Maybe you werent ready for him to say he desired you or love you too.

No! I was ready! Mira protested, yet Big Lou had made an interesting point. I just didnt to put myself out there enough rejection is like one of my things. Its one of everyones things he asserted and then laughed. How did we get on this subject? Maybe its something in the coffee. Clouds in my coffee, she smiled. Anyway, I thought I would tell him when I got back to New York, how I feel- but lately Ive been thinking I shouldnt even bother. It may not matter by the time you get back. He moved on without you, and you will move on without him, and youll find someone who has your hopes, and that is what will give you the courage to try again with your dream. If its going to happen, it will happen. I had a good shop teacher once, when I was learning to work wood. He was teaching me how to make a dovetail joint. Do you know what that is? With a thick pencil, he drew a blunted arrow on a napkin. Anyway, he saw me trying to push two pieces of wood together that were not ready. I hadnt done enough work on them yet. I was hurrying; Trying too hard to force things along. He told me not to rush my work. That it had to be right in order to fit. That day he told me some words I have always remembered and they work for things other than building furniture. He said Dont force it. Dont force it, Mira. He shoved her on the shoulder a little and looked out the window. The trees were swaying violently; Branches whipped east and west, as birds fought to find protected places to land.

Its not like I was trying so hard to force it. Maybe I didnt force it enough. I just had hope for it. Plus, maybe youre the one who needs some hope, Big Lou. I have hope, he defended, its just different than yours. I have hope that my mothers land will be secured; That our sacred ground will remain in our hands, and be cherished, and that all the land across the nation will be available for our animals to roam free. Hope that Jo will be able to use it for teaching her children the old ways. And that their kids will do the same and so on. It saddens me the way our world is going, but I keep that hope. And the way youre fighting for this guyin New York, who ever he is I am fighting for a legacy, before my life is over, because Im not so young as you are. Youre not oldand Im not fighting for Art, Mira interjected. Not anymore. Big Lous gaze was drawn out the window, beyond where his eyes could see. I want my dream to be a reality, and now that our land stands to be taken and changed, I have a desire like I havent felt in years. I was once content just to visit our sacred places. Mira looked askance, discerning his emotion. You want to own it dont you? You personally, own it. I thought you said we cant own things or let them be what makes us feel secure. Land is different than people. Plus, your love will fade but mine will not change. Mine is holding strong, and my duties are apparent. He squinted outside as if focused on that very plot too far away to see. They both heard someone come in the back door.

Mine wont necessarily fade either, Mira said. Not any more than yours will. Regardless, you cant own land any more than you can own people. Its outside of you and it belongs to the earth. Startled by her statement, Big Lou snapped his gaze in her direction. From the entryway, Hello, said a womans voice. When she came into view, she didnt smile until Mira smiled first. Am I interrupting something? Mira recognized Jo, but Big Lou introduced them again. We must get organized, he told Jo immediately. They are coming.

On her bicycle ride home Mira strained hard against the wind that batted her with great swoops at odd angles. The muscles in her thighs, calves, forearms, and shoulders burned as she struggled just to keep her forward momentum. Her balance was compromised, and her vision occasionally obscured by airborne debris. She was alone with the elements. So what did happen? she asked herself, imagining Big Lous voice in her ear. With Art What happened? The wind shifted for a moment and pushed her wheels a few yards ahead at a great speed. She was fighting to stay upright. The question waited there in front of her like boldface type hanging in the wind which she was forced to ride into. Yet, the words seemed to stay at a distance. What happened? Pedaling against the gusts was apparently easier than being honest with ones self.

I was afraid, she admitted softly. Too softly. Of course you were. Of what though? What were you afraid of? Pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal. The words still hung there. What happened? Pedal, pedal. I wasnt good enough for him. Still too soft. This is something only he can decide, Mira. It sounds like you wanted to decide for him. Tell me the truth! Pedal, pedal, pedal. When the answer finally came out with the sweat on her forehead, Mira was surprised by it. I wasnt good enough in my own eyes. Is that true, Mira? She was getting closer to those words, What happened? Ready to ride through them. Yes, I think its true. I wasnt good enough in my own eyes. The responsibility now lay with her. She expected to feel the burden of its weight, but instead she became lighter. The Big Lou of her imagination looked on with patience. But thats going to change, she assured him, feeling a further sense of calm. He nodded his approval. But thats going to change, she announced aloud, and the wind carried her voice right back into her own ears.

f/9.5

If this picture had a title, you might call it Portrait of a Voyeur on a Windy Night in September. Youre the subject, and youre naked, and at first you had felt like this was something you should do, not something you wanted to do. You were nervous as hell, even though you were completely alone. You were the photographer, the subject, and the developer of this photo; and so far, you are its lone viewer. When you first undressed and stood in front of the long antique mirror in your house, you had no intention of documenting what you saw. You had photographed a few nude models in college, and felt secretly jealous of their bravery. You were impressed by their level of comfort with their, in most cases, imperfect bodies. They had freedom that scared you, because you felt an appalling lack of it in yourself. So far in your life, photography had been a public act with a product meant for the eyes of the audience. But tonight, it was for the first time to be a private act of courage, for you only. The idea came because you suddenly realized you could. You had a private darkroom, plenty of photographic equipment and paper, a house without roommates and more than enough time to yourself. No one would be inquiring about your evenings activities. You were used to assessing how the world looked once you saw it in emulsion. Now you would be able to do the same with a view of yourself. No shying away. You wanted to be able to look down at the finished product and say, Well then, young lady.

Thats not so bad. But you feared you might look down and see the dreaded truth instead. You decided to set up in front of the mirror where youd started, so you laid a soft blanket down on the floor and on a tripod set the single-lens medium-format camera at an angle. This way you would capture you and your reflection at the same time. This felt comfortable because you would be able to look into your own eyes instead of the eye of the camera. You were partially naked as you did this, just to save dressing and undressing. You softened the light by placing a scarf over the lamp to your right, and the backdrop was made more interesting by draping a woven blanket on the bed behind you. Candles? No, you blew those out. Too romantic, and that was not the point. Wine? No, why should you need it? Simple was better. Now it was time to set up the shot. You put George where you would be sitting so that you could figure out proper focus and exposure time. George was perfect for this because he was a little white, a little black, and a little gray. You attached an extra long cable release, so you could trigger the shutter without getting up. When you were ready to the take the first frame, George stayed with you. That seemed natural, because he was a diversion that made you feel you werent alone in front of the camera. You werent naked yet. Its perfectly easy to get undressed when youre alone, but now in front of the camera it came with a certain nervous rush. What if someone could see in from outside? What if someone came to the door? What if someone saw the negatives?

In spite of fears, or perhaps because of them, you slid off your underwear. You were already topless, so now you were almost officially nude. The last part for you had always been the toughest your shoes and socks. Now besides small pearl earrings, the mirror reflected only you. You sat for a moment staring at yourself afraid of what you were about to do. You had both legs folded to the side in a casual and somewhat demure pose. You snapped one picture quickly before you could change your mind. Then you felt better liberated because now it had already been done. You tilted your head back slightly and snapped a second. Neither the first, nor the second would be the one you chose to print later on. You wouldnt come to that one until almost the end of the roll; in it you are sitting bravely with on leg against the floor pointed behind you at ninety degrees. The other, your left, with knee up, mangled foot front and center. By this frame you are no longer looking down, nor looking at yourself, but staring straight into the camera. You arent smiling, or frowning. Your expression is one of respect. The curve of your belly is catching a wedge of light from the side, the round of your breasts are casting a shadow on your left shoulder. The nipple of your right breast is reflecting soft lamplight like a clay bead. With hair pulled back in a loose wavy braid, your neck is the most fully illuminated part of your figure, and its long, smooth, and flawless like no other part of your body.

Your left hand holds the cable release, though youre not a lefty, and your right hand, furthest away from the camera, is wrapped around the ankle of that dreaded foot. Your hand rests there to encourage the foot, as they are lateral partners who have always lent balance to each other. Somewhere during the middle of the role of film, you decided to use some of your fingernail polish in a place you had never tried it before. In the picture you can see the three freshly-painted toenails standing out proudly, if not a bit diffidently, as if they are dressed in drag. Without knowing their own beauty those three adorable toes effortlessly draw the viewers attention away from the sweet round shoulders, the pubic triangle, and the pointed gaze. Nothing else in this shot is a match for those three virginal piggies on their first night out.

Chapter 14
Photography is a way of feeling, of touching, of loving. What you have caught on film is captured forever it remembers little things, long after you have forgotten everything. -Aaron Sussman

It was Miras idea to create a flyer to handout to the visiting church members, but Big Lou decided not to use one of the old photographs she suggested from Franks collection, of brutality and massacre, taken during the gold rush. Instead, the Miwok CROW had an idea they strongly agreed on. They created a map of the land in question, which outlined all the locations of the burial grounds, living areas, grinding stones, and fire pits; Everything they knew that proved the land was truly theirs. They included historical dates and facts, such as when and by whom the early camps had been raided, and the names of those indigenous families who had inhabited the bluffs and meadows as far back in their lineage as they could remember. To finish it off, in the upper corner of the halfsheet of marigold paper was a rough sketch of an eagle.

The eagle is the creature the Miwoks most aspire to, Big Lou explained. She is grand, all seeing and all knowing, strong and noble and wise, Dont you think those churchy people will assume youre being patriotic? Those who are able to will see it and will understand. We all aspire to the eagle. It is universal. Big Lou and the others were already journeying along the easement by Miras house to set up camp for the week. They brought with them tents, firewood, and construction materials for building a roundhouse like the one in Pine Grove which is used every September for the Big Time celebration. They wanted it complete so that theyd have an authentic presence by the time the weekend arrived. They were planning to demonstrate a peaceful life in the tradition of the old ways.

Now that her hands had healed, barring one tender area in the cleft between her thumb and first finger, Mira was able to get back to work on Franks collection. After months of wading through stacks of photographs and papers in the house, she still hadnt seen any key to the storage space outside. Lloyd had already tried all of the keys on his massive bundle, so she hoped she might turn it up in the studio and wouldnt have to have the door of the shed sawed through. She went out to Franks garage and found a hammer in the workbench. The lock on the shed was very old and it was rustier than the shed itself. It was one of the sturdiest-looking locks Mira had ever seen. No part of it even rattled

when she swung the hammer down on it. She once saw her brother break a small lock off a suitcase that way. As he had done, she lobbed the hammer head against the lock several times until it ricocheted and hit her in the arm, immediately leaving a purple crescent shape in her skin. That fucking key better show up soon. That afternoon she arranged several albums of negatives that Frank himself had organized. It was more work from his middle and most productive years from 1971 to 79. The stack included one of his most famous shots. It is that of a window frame, glass panes miraculously intact, nailed over a hole going straight through the middle of a Madrone trunk and out the other side. The trees red bark is peeling to reveal its green satin skin underneath. A few dense clusters of blossoms hang on branches in the foreground. The light shafts are coming through the trees from above and behind so everything is part silhouette, part halo. Behind the glass hovers a tiny Calliope Hummingbird, iridescent lavender over pale green. A handwritten note paper-clipped to the original proof reads: Medium format Leica 300mm lens. Ilfochrome 110. F/18, 125 sec. May 26, 1977. Abt 3:30pm. 4 1/2 miles over Trout Hatch. Waited 2 hrs for Caliope! Worth it! Afraid I might lose sun. Old Madrone. Looks like a cannonball went at it. Dont know who hung window. Included in the same box is a roll of negatives that had fallen out of their sleeves. She held them up to the light as she slid them between the plastic layers, right side up. On one negative, taken in the 1970s there was a face that looked familiar, but Mira couldnt

place it. The negative was monochrome and inverted, but still there was someone recognizable on the roll of family pictures. The face caught her eye because she felt for a split second that she was looking at a picture of herself as a child. She decided to put it off to the side and try to print it out later. By the afternoon, too engrossed to go back to her house for lunch she opened a can of Beeferoni she found in Franks kitchen cupboard. She had fond memories of this food from her childhood and as she watched the ceramic bowl turning around and around in the microwave, she looked forward to indulging herself in the flavors of a bygone age. Why does he have this in here? Is this for Ruthy? Unsurprisingly, it wasnt anywhere near as good as she remembered it. In fact the meaty sauce in the dish tasted to her now the way she imagined dog food would taste. Clement came in and sat down with her at the table as she managed to choke down the majority of the almost pre-masticated pasta. It had been days since shed seen him, and clearly someone had done quite a job of cutting his hair. It was the sort of jagged work that could have been done by a right-hander using left-handed scissors. Do you like that? he asked pointing and wrinkling his nose at what remained in her bowl. No, she said. Not as good as I remember it. Maybe I was feeling nostalgic. Nothalgic? he asked. Nostalgia like looking back with fondness or whatever. He was still confused.

She thought harder. I was enjoying it in my memories, I guess. He nodded. What happened to your hair? He mimed scissor-fingers around his head. Who?.. Haley? Mira was working on swallowing another bite. He shook his head, causing the longer pieces of his new hairdo to sway. Ruthy? He grinned. No again. You, she touched his crown playfully with one finger. His smile grew, but went crooked at the sides. Your mom mad? He shrugged, then peered into her bowl. He smiled as if he was pleased that she had finished the Beeferoni. Eh. Itll grow back. She reassured him as she returned to her work in the living room, to where Clement followed. He sat quietly as she searched the bookshelves and cabinets for stray snapshots or notes Frank may have stashed there. You look pretty, Clement offered without segue. What? Are you thinking of doing something different with my hair? He loved the fact that she could be subtle with him. Ith your fathe. Ith pretty like my momth.

After Clement wandered out of the room she went to the mirror to see what he was seeing. Nothing looked different until she smiled to her reflection and there they were: The first faint indications of crows feet crinkling at the corners of her eyes.

That evening Mira couldnt resist making a trip to the store in search of alphahydroxy cream. Not wanting it to look as if she was on a mission for that one item, and not just any item- but one that Art would see as pathetically narcissistic, she added jars of mustard and pickles to her basket. It was a puny store with a low ceiling and linoleum that broke in waves across the floor. The back wall bore the scar of a collision; its new plaster and paint in the shape of the Pontiac Bonneville that went through it a three years ago. The whole place hummed with fluorescent light and every isle smelled slightly of ripe meat. As she roamed she noticed an elderly man leaving without pausing at the cash register. He held his carton of eggs long-ways- by the edge of Styrofoam cups, the way one might carry a newspaper or a bag of lettuce. He looked familiar. She hoped to get a different cashier than usual, but it was the same one. She wore a dark blue apron with a nametag that read My name is_______. She was a short woman with straight silver-flecked hair she may have trimmed herself, and bright blue eye shadow haphazardly applied from lash to brow. Aside from not understanding how she really looked, she didnt seem to care what anyone bought, or stole from the store. Did you see that guy with the eggs? Mira asked her.

The nameless clerk replied, When Im the only one up front, not much I can do. Thats the owners problem. Outside the door there were eggs splattered on the pavement. The goop formed a sporadically glistening trail the length of the sidewalk. One egg had come out of the carton and somehow remained intact. It was rolling along in the gutter bumping over pebbles as it picked up speed. That chicken would have been proud of her strong egg. Just around the corner was Fay from the church, grabbing hold of the old man with eggshells and yolk on the inner edge of his shoe. Mira needed to walk by them to get to her bike which was locked to a chain-link fence. Fay held the old man by the sleeve of his jacket as he faced away from her. She was talking to Pastor Rubin and they were both shaking their heads. Mira recognized the old man as the one who had boosted her wallet. The realization quickened her pulse, but the man himself appeared unfazed by her presence. She made a point of unlocking her bike slowly and then winding the chain very meticulously so that she had a few additional seconds to eavesdrop on the conversation. Im not sure of that, she heard Fay say to the pastor. Some kind of protest though his right hand went to his waist. I think we ought to move up then Fay caught herself using her normal volume. Mira was out of view of Fay and the pastor. Fay whispered, Move up the date two more weeks. But, I wouldnt even tell the congregation until right before. And the welcoming committee? he asked.

Fay hissed, I dont think we should. Miras bike lock clanged against the fence causing the pair to look over at her. They began walking, with Fay still holding the old mans sleeve as he trailed along behind them like a child.

At Big Lous, he surprised her with a triumphant laugh. Theyre a little afraid of us, He seemed amused by the information. This is not bad news, Mira. Its what I was hoping for. But rescheduling the church visit for two weeks from now was more than we hoped for. She was perplexed, but happy if he was. It was total chance I heard them. They didnt seem sure of that date though. They were still talking when I rode past. We will hand out the flyers next weekend, but in the meantime I have to create miracles. Mira looked at him askew. Thoughts? she asked. She was in the same seat at his kitchen table as she had been before and nibbled at a stale stoned wheat cracker laying in the bottom of a carved wooden bowl. I will tell you as soon as I know. His grin hid no enthusiasm. I will ask though, that you resign from handing out flyers next week. I have other more important jobs for you.

The next morning Miras ennui had finally begun to lift. Her first thought was not of Art, whose voice was finally becoming like background noise instead of running commentary. She decided to go back to the darkroom to get it better organized. She listened to Franks six-CD jazz collection in the player as she worked. Eventually she had heard every one of his CDs more than once. By the end of the evening shed transported two loads of boxes to the main house and labeled them for shipment. She had dusted off several fill lights and a stereoscopic view-camera that Frank hadnt used in decades. She phoned his last three unfilled appointments, reaching only two of them, and they were both amenable to rescheduling with her. The first client would be in that week, the second in the following week. Mira mixed a batch of chemicals so that she could print some her recent roles of film, including the portraits of herself. The sharp, sulfuric odors of the developer and fixer filled the tiny darkroom which was at one time the kitchen. She flipped on a fan and it roared like a Cessna. She had to turn up the music. She had not been completely alone in a darkroom since college and recalled once entering the school facility in the middle of the night- expecting to have the place to herself. It was finals week and she was making an extra effort to finish her project early so she would have more time to study for her academic classes. There were other kids putting in extra time including one person from a different class who was working secretively at an

enlarger in the corner. Miras lip had curled when she heard the Christian rock station the young man had the radio set to. She caught a furtive glance as he moved his prints from tub to tub, keeping them face down. She became interested in what he was printing merely for the fact that he was guarding it with dedication she would later recognize as shame. After the guy had finished his work and hastily left the building holding several wet prints with his fingertips, Mira was finally alone as she had hoped to be. First she changed the radio station and then stood gently agitating one of her prints of a model-willing friend gobbling fruit above a tombstone in the cemetery. Now she couldnt remember the point of that tableau. Intuition motivated her to investigate the enlarger the kid had been using. Aha! The negative carrier was still in its slot. What do we have here? She looked around the room to confirm once again that she was the only one there. Pulling out the carrier she saw with wicked delight that the guys negative strip was still inside. How could you be so careless! So hasty in leaving! Holding it up to the light: What were you so terrified of revealing? She happily prepared herself to be horrified. She was hoping there might be pornographic pictures of him and a girlfriend. Perhaps some Peeping Tom shots from the bushes behind a girls dorm. Maybe a boys locker room? Maybe some Mapplethorpe bullwhip-up-the-ass re-enactment. Maybe it was just pictures of his dick- upright of course, but innocent enough. Maybe he wasnt circumcised. In a second she would know the answer. Meanwhile, all manner of subversive act rotated in her mind.

She gingerly placed the stubby strip of negatives in her negative frame and inserted it into her enlarger. The anticipation was great, in part because she had to hurry in case he returned- also she had her own work to do and this was wasting time. It turned out that all three negatives on the strip were of a mans back in a flexed position like he was in the process of doing a push-up. Not a great back, but not a bad back; Just a back, flexed, with a few freckles and some hair. Mira remembered deflating. His behavior had been preposterous. In fact it was the indicting piece of evidence that proved the pictures must have been of the young man himself. Ironically, if not for his suspicious behavior, Mira never would have sought out his forgotten negatives in the first place. Now she was the preposterous one as she nervously exposed her warm-tone fiber paper to a projection of light through a negative of herself exposed. She looked around the room to make sure she was by herself; This time, her own voyeur. She focused the image carefully using a grain-magnifier, honing in on the specs of silver bromide that coalesced to form her chin and shoulder. It was her but in reverse tones; she barely recognized her own face which actually made it made it easier to look at. Ten seconds at f/9. She placed the blank paper strip in the tub of developer. The dim red bulb of the safety light cast barely enough glow for her to see the image of her own body emerge. This was always the most dramatic moment for Mira, no matter what subject she was printing; when the shadows and light captured first by the eye, then by the camera, appeared on paper for the first time- the inky contours of a face, a building No matter

what it was, it always looked instantly like art in the altered state of black and white, miniaturized and condensed, distilled to its essence, translated into an object small enough to possess in ones hand. Like seeing the world and then having it handed back as something more special than seeing it the first time had been. The instant of actualization, when her very first black and white image had appeared in the developer bath in front of her had been addictive, and she still felt the same thrill in it now, and every time thereafter that she has gone into a darkroom to do her work. That first image, made with a homemade pinhole camera, had been of a chair casting a long shadow into the corner of a courtyard wall. Her life ever after that premiere image would be a continued effort to document her view of the world, which she did by dictating how it would look in the pictures she took for others to see. Besides validation, photography helped Mira to feel she was creating permanence; if it was an ordinary moment, she would compose it for posterity as something sublime, destined for the walls of a gallery. And she never rushed any print in the developing process, no matter how looming a deadline, in order to ensure that even her test strips would not deteriorate. Now with her self-portrait swirling in a bath of clean water, encouraged by the dim, she plucked one out for her first chance to see herself this way on the paper. To see that it was not a great body, but not a bad one either; just a naked body, with a few freckles and some hair missing a few toes, but otherwise quite complete.

When she reemerged into the light two hours later she met the same little girl who had let herself into the studio the last time Mira had been there. This time the girl sat in the window seat in the front room staring at a book. She hadnt heard the girl come in, and Mira wondered how she could have forgotten to lock the front door again. Hello. Whats your name again? The girl still didnt speak, but stood up to look at the other childrens books on the shelf. The girl sat on the floor and pulled out a volume to read. Im Mira. She vaguely remembered having introduced herself the time before as well. The girl of course, said nothing in response. Standing next to the bookshelf, Mira stared down at the child who she figured must live in the neighborhood. She thought she might be wearing the same dress as the day before. The girl looked up blankly as she replaced the book on the shelf and pulled out another one. She caressed the first page with one finger. The new book was illustrated using photos of a doll and two teddy bear companions, and showed the doll walking with a real horse in a real meadow. Looking down, Mira was alarmed to see that she was still holding a tray full of nude portraits of herself. She rushed off to hide them on the drying rack upstairs. She organized each print carefully and symmetrically, as one is wont to do when they have an even number of rectangles inside of a larger rectangle. There were six, and they fit perfectly

on the wire-mesh frame. Back downstairs the girl had already left; Her book still open on the floor. Mira went to lock the front door, but it was already locked. Her blood ran cold. She glanced back at the books on the floor and decided to leave them there for now. Outside as Mira left, she could smell that someone was barbequing chicken and the delicious aroma invaded her trucks cab. She wished Alfonso was cooking for her that night, which would have given her something to look forward to, but halfway home she remembered she had actually promised him a meal, and changed her course to his house. Not finding him there she left him a note on the back of a grocery receipt, offering dinner later that night at her house, if he was free. She closed the scrap of paper in the jamb of the screen door. At home she picked up her clutter and went outside for a shower. It was dark by then and figuring Alfonso had been working late, or didnt see her note (or just wasnt interested in her offer) she decided to eat without him. She was so tired that it was actually kind of a relief not to have to entertain. Mira had the news on the radio when Alfonso finally did appear at the door. He startled her. They both ate the sandwiches she had made, but only Mira finished her tomato soup while Alfonsos congealed into a pool of thick reddish jelly. They talked intermittently as they listened to a two hour call-in show about election campaign fund limits and an entire

classical music program before they switched it off. Mira looked across the table at her friend and thought about how life in Vanishing River wasnt all that bad. By eleven when Alfonso stood up to leave, theyd been sitting together for nearly four hours. So this weekend, he said finally and in such a rehearsed fashion it made her hope that he had been trying to get around to saying it all evening, Saturday might be one of the last good days for fly fishing before the winter. Thats right, she concurred. You were going to teach me. Do you still want to learn? She answered with a nod and they made plans for the following weekend. He walked out and Mira hovered at the edge of the porch with one hand on the newel post. As he said good night, she watched his fingers coming toward hers. Time ripped open as his hand traveled through space. She was able to study his cuticles and the thick tendons and veins that roped together under his smooth skin. When his hand finally made contact with hers, Mira swore she was shocked by electricity. That was all he had done. Touch his fingers to hers. The electricity of it sizzled through her fingertips into her knuckles, up her arm, around her elbow to her shoulder, up her neck, and finally right into the center of her brain; The center of her brain. And she had never felt such a thing before. She had heard of it, but always figured it was just a matter of speaking, not an actual sensation of electrical shock. Later upon reflection she would remember it as feeling more like a strummed guitar, with notes that vibrated through her skin the way they do through

guitar strings. After hed gone home it took her chemistry at least ten minutes to normalize. It may have been longer but it was hard to tell time when one was standing still on a porch in the dark. Later that night, reliving the memory of that moment gave her the curious ability to strum the chord in herself over and over again. When she finally relaxed into bed, it was with pleasant thoughts of Alfonso that she faded off to sleep, and the night was filled with happy dreams she could not remember in the morning.

Chapter 15
Its important to take bad pictures. Its the bad ones that have to do with what youve never done before. They can make you recognize something you hadnt seen in a way that

will make you recognize it when you see it again. --Dian Arbus

Needing guinea pigs before seeing her real customers, Mira invited Haley and Clement to the studio for a portrait session. In truth she also missed their company and the sense of being near people who werent going to leave her until she asked them to. Before going to get them Mira had spent the morning setting up the camera she wanted to use, and experimenting with lighting while George acted as a gray card. The anteroom to the library would be best. It has a small flowered sofa against a wall papered in stripes of ivory and sea foam green. Behind the sofa is an oblong painting of a Labrador retriever and a beagle pointing against a dark field. In front of the sofa was a glass coffee table with a vase matching the sofa upholstery. Perpendicular to the table was a wingback chair with dark wood around the upper edge and turned legs. She can see why Frank had decorated the room this way. The regular shapes and ordered patterns could probably give any subject a look of neatness that may not have been intrinsic. Shed read about three-dimensional portraits, but had never tried to make one herself. While setting up the particular stereoscopic view camera that had been one of Franks workhorses, Mira came across a Moleskine notebook taped to its side. In Franks typewriter-like script were listed page after page of optimum settings for any situation. The specifications for exposures were so carefully noted, its as if he had intended them to be used by someone beside himself. The notes included recommendations for the best

exposure times for various light meter readings. Mira felt like he was in the room guiding her gently with questions; her own answers being empowering and educative. Before leaving to pick up Haley and Clement, she went upstairs to gather her selfportraits in case the kids decided to explore and accidentally discovered them. When she reached the second floor office she noticed immediately that two of the 8 1/2 by 11 photos shed carefully placed in a squared fashion now lay at odd angles. Her blood thinned to a whisper as she stared at their askew positions. Her skeptical eyes focused on the wire mesh, figuring that the longer she stared, the more she would understand that the pictures really hadnt moved; that it was a trick of the eye, not of an intruder. They havent been moved, she told herself, but clearly, somehow they had. She held her inhale and focused on the sensations given to her skin. No breath of air licked her. There was no draft in the room. And since the locks had been changed there was no one else that she knew of with a key to any of the doors in the building. She looked around the room and everything else seemed to be in place. If someone broke in, why wouldnt they steal something? Why would they just look at my pictures and leave? Not wanting to pursue the possibilities in her mind she decided to gather up the prints and forget about it. Maybe she accidentally touched the screen on her way downstairs that evening to talk to the little girl whom she left reading on the floor. I must have knocked it with my knee on the way out yesterday. And it was settled. Haley and Clement were ideal subjects and sit primly, though unsmiling, as Mira fumbled with unfamiliar buttons and dials. The kids were on the sofa reading to one

another for several shots. In another series of exposures, they posed at the wing back chair, alternating between Haley sitting in it and Clement standing to the side, then Clement sitting in the chair- though his sneakers didnt touch the floor, and Haley standing to the side. There was little conversation throughout the shoot as Mira was concentrating so intently she only mumbled to herself. Did you read the scrapbook? Haley asked her. Clement looked at his sister abruptly; It was his intent to do as his mother told him and forget about the scrapbook his sister once obsessed. Not the whole thing, Mira admitted, remembering articles about the heaviest recorded snowfall and the dead adults found by the snowplow. But some of it. Why? I want to meet the last girl. The girl? The alive one. Oh. Well, maybe you will. You know though, she isnt little any more. Shes probably older than me by now. Haley shrugged, but Mira wasnt looking at her. Why do you want to meet her? Are you just curious? Haley nodded. I just want to see if she knows me. Knows you? Why would she know you? Clement mumbled something in exasperation.

Who cares? Haley admonished her brother, thereby preempting any further conversation on the subject.

When the session was over, the kids waited while Mira locked up the studio for the night. Can we thee the houtheth? Clement asked. See the whats? Im sorry, say it again, Clement. Haley was fidgeting by the door. He wants to see the houses in the mans village Sometimes theres lights in the buildings at night. The little houtheth, he indicated a small size with his hands. Oh, I know what youre talking about. Mira remembered the old man who took her wallet, and the eggs from the store. I know exactly where that house is.

They pulled up in front of the modest residence with an attached garage. Do you guys know whats up with this guy anyway? Mira asked. I think hes pretty out of it. He goes to our church. Some of the miniature houses were illuminated from within. A few had scenes painted in the windows, depicting tableaus of furnished living rooms and people at dinner tables. The light shone gently through their windows like stained glass lanterns. Here and

there a miniature business or home is dark, but every building looked perfectly kept. Is he okay? Mira asked again, already knowing he was not. They sat in the idling truck. Haley picked her nose freely, thinking it was too dark for anyone to see her. Mom said hes sick. There were still groomed areas of open ground; available miniature real estate, indicating that there may be more buildings to come. He used to talk to me when I was littler, but now he forgot who I am. Clement anxiously pawed at the door handle next to his sister. Can we get out? No, I think your moms waiting for us. We should already be there, Mira was famished. She looks at her watch. I told her five oclock and its already almost six. Clement slapped his hands into his lap at her answer. His shoulders sunk. Ill bring you guys back in the daylight when we have more time. Okay? I like it in the dark. He caught a long last look as they pulled away.

The morning of Miras first appointment, the client arrived early. In the front windows of the studio she staved off nervousness as she watched a tall middle-aged woman with wavy cinnamon hair swirling about the top of her head make her way up the front steps. She had broad shoulders, a large bust, and massive thighs. She was wearing a light peach blouse and darker peach culottes pulled up high on the waist. A puffy auburn dog pranced along behind her tethered to a leash. The womans beige high heels looked

never-warn, but were in a style that went out of fashion before Mira was born. Over one arm she held a full garment bag. The customer, Beverly McGee, entered the studio forcefully, and she and Mira exchanged enthusiastic handshakes. They spoke briefly about Frank Bafflehaus, whom Beverly met twice, but had not, as she put it partaken of his services in time. She draped her garment bag over the back of a chair, revealing a sweaty elbow pit underneath. I was real disappointed after he died so sudden. Should of made my appointment for sooner, I thought. Real missed opportunity there. He was a guys guy. Mira invited Beverly into the office so they could discuss what kind of portrait Beverly was looking for. The woman poured herself a tumbler of good whisky from a liquor cabinet Mira hadnt noticed until then. Oh, we been all over it, Beverly told her. Frank and I discussed the whole deal. She set the sable-colored volume from the bookshelf on the desk between them. Now I assume since you were his student that youre familiar with the romantic sort of pictures he did. Beverlys question was phrased more like a statement. Mira had barely slept for the past two nights trying to review all that she knew about portraiture, and scheming about how she would incorporate her own style with Franks specialty of using three-dimensions. But to answer the question, no, she was not familiar with his romantic sorts of pictures. Maybe he didnt do so many, Mira suggested.

Chuh. Beverly cocked her head to the side. Did plenty if you ask me! Her client flipped through a bloated binder of nudity. For a moment Mira was stupefied. Right. Oh right. Franks private series. Sure. Okay. Yeah. Im somewhat familiar. What the hell? Nobody anywhere told me he did this sort of thing. Kind of along these lines, Beverly explained stopping on a page that still held the bookmark Frank placed there when he met with Beverly himself. She tapped an image with her broad finger and then sat back in her chair. The examples of boudoir photos sat in front of her. Three different women in three different portraits stood, sat, or lay bearing breasts, buns and navels. Just something simple and flattering, Beverly said and laughed revealing the throaty dryness associated with a lifetime of smoking. Its supposed to be for my boyfriend Hes inside right now. Her laughter became a cough, which turned into a phlegmmy-hack. Mira turned the pages in the binder slowly, trying to get used to the idea of this woman posing partially clad or totally nude in front of her so she could come out with something flattering. Mira had seen this kind of work before; low lighting, lots of gauzy fabric, soft focus. Lots of soft focus and shadow. Deep shadows. Maybe even some areas of total darkness. Im actually kind of glad youre going to do it instead of Frank. He was good, ya know. But, the idea of just him and me alone that way on my first time naked in front of a

camera made me kinda nervous. I mean hes a professional and all, but still ya know. I wanna do it though. Promised it to Eddy quite a while back. Every letter says he wants to know where its at. She tittered at her own remark. Says some of the other guys is asking him when its going to get there. Maybe get a couple extras made. Ill just need a few minutes to get set up. Mira pointed to a portrait taken in the anteroom she used with Haley and Clement. Is this setting okay?

The session was well underway from the instant it began. Beverly was naked when Mira came in with a Chinese fan, a hand mirror, and a few other props shed found upstairs. This was not going to be 3-D photography, but something more like what Mira is used to doing, especially given her recent personal experience. She arranged a long piece of pink chiffon over part of the window shade, and draped a scarf over the beaded lampshade on the nightstand. As they worked Beverly nipped from an etched silver flask shed brought with her. Mira figured she must have felt more comfortable entirely nude than in lingerie because it took her quite a few sips on the flask before she decided to wear a bustier she had in her garment bag. When Beverly got rid of the undergarments again and lay on her side, creating the look of a waist that wasnt naturally there, Mira knew they would get something useable from the afternoon. Is it ok with you if I smoke in here? Beverly lit a cigarette and the smoke swirled out of her lipsticked mouth in a surprisingly sensuous way. Her hair looked

softer than when they had begun, and her well-manicured finger and toenails added an air of deliberateness to the shot. It turns out that the fact of Beverly being nude merely fit in with the scene instead of dominating it, which later surprised and delighted Mira. Weeks later when her first customer returned for the proofs, Beverly was pleased with the end-product, as she had expected to be, without ever realizing that the photographer herself had not been so optimistic.

Chapter 16
While there is perhaps a province in which the photograph can tell us nothing more than what we see with our own eyes, there is another in which it proves to us how little our eyes permit us to see. --Dorothea Lange

That weekend, Mira left her camera at home when Alfonso picked her up for their day out of the limits of Vanishing River. Shed been fishing several times in the lakes of upstate New York, but had never been fly-fishing. She hoped the day would not involve the taking off any shoes but she had been trying to mentally prepare herself for that possibility, just in case. The fear of him seeing her foot had kept her from reveling in the anticipation of the outing. Youre first time out of town since you got here? Alfonso asks. Im embarrassed to say yes. The early Saturday morning freshness and the smell of wet clover in the grass encouraged her. They passed through a digger pine belt, dotted with Fireweed and Sierra Morning Glory. When you take someone fishing, who hasnt gone before She interrupted, Oh, I have. You have? Not fly fishing, but fishing. Well, I meant to say; you always hope your guest will be the one to catch the fish. They turned off the paved road and drove a few more miles on a dirt path that narrowed into a pair of tracks, with a strip of grass growing up the middle. Alfonso slowed the truck for a red fox walking in front of them, his feet so tiny and stealthy- they barely seemed to touch the ground. The fox made eye contact with Mira before it darted into the brush. Did you see that? she asked breathlessly.

What? A fox looked at me. He looked at my eyes! Alfonso shook his head and whistled between his teeth as he maneuvered the truck. Have you heard of Black Bart? Yes. Dont really know who it was though. He was a bank robber. It is a fact that this was an old trail used by the stagecoaches at the end of the 1800s. Black Bart was supposed to be hiding behind that rock. He pointed to a jutting outcrop preceding a hill. They had a night-watchman on the coach who was keeping a lookout for unattended get-away horses. But Black Bart I guess often escaped on foot. He held up a stagecoach here with a wooden gun, and absconded with thousands of dollars from a bank in Murphys. He got away with those sorts of things often. It was only by his confidence that he convinced people. After a few twists through a White Alder grove, the truck couldnt go any further. They got out and walked down a trail leading to a wide creek coursing in complicated paths around boulders and angular rocks that inevitably split the water into two or three new streams. A few caddis flies darted around a cloud of gnats over the surface of the river, visible only at intervals where the sun sent shafts of light through the trees. We will eat fish for lunch. Alfonso handed Mira a pair of tall rubber boots. Wear these? he asked. We need to keep our feet protected from the rocks.

Her neck tensed. Thats fine. Ill go over and put them on. Just sit on this rock next to me. Ill be right back. I have to just do somethingwith these socks. And luckily he didnt press the issue. Alfonso chose several flies from a pillbox he had in his creel. Mira, wearing her trilby over two braids, her shirt tied around her waist, and most of her back bare in her tank top, sat at close range. He leaned over to put an extra fly in her hatband; she inhaled him deeply. His smell had become something to her. Any objective nose would have registered it as a mixture of soap, deodorant, and sweat. To Mira it had become a torturous treat, which she indulged in to the maximum whenever she had the chance. It was a smell that made her feel like laughing out loud while screaming in silence. She wished she could jump through his scent, into a hole in the ground filled with him. Once there she would burrow, burying herself deeper and deeper into his nuances. But instead she silently breathed, holding and dissecting the fragrance into its individual parts as it passed through her nose. She was attempting to horde the fragrance, and catalogue it for later, like a starving person drinking in the smell of a delicious, yet unreachable meal as they passed by an open window. She was gone too long with the sniff. Conversation. Conversation. There was nothing in her brain to say. Somehow she finagled the banal into a sentence. Im getting so excited to catch a fish! she blurted. But, then if I do well have to kill it. And Ill feel

bad. It would have to suffice for conversation. Well, you have to catch it first. And it will be our lunch, so you should not feel bad. Anything small or gravid we throw back. Everything else we keep, and eat. When he put his hand out to help her stand up she hesitated before taking it, preparing herself for another delectable jolt of electricity like the one she received a few nights earlier. His fingers were long and rounded, with muscular pads, and she took firm hold of them, feeling the transmission of a tingle, but no jolt. She was both relieved and disappointed. For half an hour he demonstrated the techniques of letting out a bit of line and whipping it over pools and eddies so that the fly skimmed the surface of the water without actually touching it. You are attempting to mimic what a real fly will do, no? he asked. She nodded, hoping he wouldnt quiz her, and finally she took the pole from him. I have never taught a woman to fish before. You are my first. He watched her swing the hook over a pocket of water behind a rock. I hope I wont disappoint you. She knew he was assessing her carefully. He was standing there so quietly. It was totally unnerving. Not disappointed, he said. You have a nice technique so far. Thank you, she said, making a point not to look too flattered. In fact she avoided looking at him at all. Good teacher, she said pointing in his direction. You said you have never done this? He walked over. He was dressed in a thin

linen shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbow, unbuttoned to the sternum. His chest was muscled, of course, she thought; and a cross around his neck stood out against his skin in the sun. He hadnt shaved, and the hairs on his chin and around his lips made his face sparkle. This is more than I can stand! She turned her pupils away and landed her fly in a Thimbleberry bush along the edge of the water. Her balance was thrown and she comically pitched backward to catch herself from tripping, instead landing on her ass in the water. The current pushed her shorts up on her thighs and the water was colder than she expected. Now that a scream was appropriate she let one out of her lungs. He rushed over to her in the water. Are you okay? He was smiling hard but did not actually laugh. Its due to the snow melt. He explained as he helped her up. Im fine. Just look like a jackass. Ill dry out. It may be that you have just frightened all of our prey, but keep going anyway. A real fly-fisherman does not let a little water stop her. Would you like me to show you? he asked. You have a good technique, but it is possible to use your wrist more so that will not happen again. You would have more control. Now Ive fucked it up. I have to catch something. He showed her how to lock her line at a good length and where to place her hands on the pole for maneuverability. She understood his explanation, but when she tried it herself she felt stiff, and the way she flicked the pole looked nothing like the way he did. He showed her several styles, and then stood off to her side to observe again, his weight on

one hip and a thumb in his back pocket. They both heard a splash in the eddy a few yards away. Panicked to act quickly she tried to force her pole into his hands. He refused to take it. The fish jumped again attempting to catch a Damsel-fly flitting over the surface. Alfonso moved quickly to stand behind her, sending goose bumps up her neck. Ill show you? he asked hurriedly, steadying himself at her back and positioning the pole by putting his hand over hers. Being slightly taller than she, he could look over her shoulder. Their hat brims kept their cheeks from touching. The warmth of his palm on her knuckles was the only sensation she could feel in her entire body. Looking straight forward she tried not to make a mistake at that crucial moment when her concentration was so impaired and yet her need to prove her competence inversely intense. The second time their fly skated over the surface of the water the fish leaped onto the hook. Alfonso jerked back lightly on the rod at the right instant snagging the trout by the gills and leaving it to thrash wildly. Mira cheered, and as she began reeling the fish in she felt Alfonsos face lightly brush the back of her neck, then watched him from behind as he stumbled over the rocks to net the fish they caught together. Before going back to town he wanted to show her to see why the town was named Vanishing River. They pulled up in front a brown and yellow block bearing the words Svensons Crack- California State Historical Landmark #1003-5. A graffito had been

done so well that it was hard to decipher that the sign was supposed to say Svensons Creek. They walked out to a weather-beaten bench, bolted to the bedrock beneath. Close your eyes, he advised, putting his hand over her left ear. Listen. Water, she said. He took that hand down and covered her right ear. And now? Disbelieving, she asked Where did it go? Then she laughed. Yes, it has vanished. The wide river theyd been standing in a few miles up had abruptly narrowed and disappeared into the ground. The sign explained how the water dropped into the opening of a deep crevasse, grown over with the roots of a variety of trees. The vigorous river, full of fish, insects, algae, and frogs, all seemed to vaporize suddenly. She shook her head. How can something so strong and vibrant just disappear? Her face held the look of terrible surprise. A moment of recognition beyond the immediate. It doesnt seem possible. Its like its a trick or something. Dont worry. Its still there, we just cant see it. It reemerges very far down from here and maybe miles away. But when it does come out again it joins other rivers and streams and becomes much bigger than this little creek or the river we were in before. Included in the sign, and undisturbed by vandals, was a diagram of the river and the mysterious gorge it fell into. It explained Karst topography and how rare it was in the Sierras. There were just a few places like this in California where after millions of years,

the limestone under the bedrock had been eaten away by water, creating caves. The river then fell into the cracks at the surface and disappeared. The sign called it a losing stream. Have you seen where it comes out? she asked him. He looked out through the trees. No, but I understand it comes up in springs in some of these towns and eventually goes in to the North Fork of the Stanislaus. It gathers. It loses, then it gathers again. There isnt just one place that it comes out. On her knees and elbows she could see down into one of the thin fractures. So its not really disappearing. Flowing water was audible just under the surface. She attempted to push a piece of grass down the crack to see it if the current would carry it away, but the water bubbled up to resist her experiment. Alfonso sat at the bench nearby sniffing a crushed laurel leaf in his palm. It only goes away for a while, he called to her. And then comes back stronger. When they left, he tucked the leaf in to her hatband.

f/8

This picture of your mother is one of the smallest in your portfolio, and the most dear. It is also the hardest one to look at since she died. In it she is lively and sagacious, bearing no signs of the tumor growing in her brain. When you snapped this picture no one had known about it, not even her. In the drivers seat she has both hands on the wheel; the world outside the window is blurred, and so is she. Her hair is covered by a knotted handkerchief, paisley, and her head is thrown back slightly with laughter. This was when she could still concentrate on doing two things at once, like laughing and driving. This is when she wore handkerchiefs because she liked to, not because she had to. Her only make-up was some dark berry lipstain; Her jewelry, a pair of yellow

sapphire earrings. You were home from college for a weekend and the two of you had gone shopping together. Finally past childhood, you were getting along better with her than you had in years. This was one of many pictures of her you took that day, but this one was not posed, and yet not candid either. It was imperfectly framed and somewhat grainy. A moment where her face was filled with light and her smile challenged the existence of what amounted to years of depression, which everyone besides her had failed to notice. The world outside the car zoomed by so fast, like her life. Her bright eyes and comic expression rake your heart and stomach in that pleasant but uncomfortable way. You were joking with each other, and she had understood every word. A few months later when you began to notice changes, you stopped for a moment to withhold from filling up the conversation for both of you. It felt like stepping off a cliff when you opened your mouth to ask her a question knowing you would wait patiently for the answer, even if it didnt come. Where can we go to find really big sequins? Pause. Pause. She sat watching you talk and smiled at you in silence, nodding. She didnt answer the question, but she knew where to find anything in that town. It was a strange feeling in such a quiet room with such a murmuring moment, to want to scream bloody murder for help, or just to shriek at the top of your lungs in horror that a person who you had convinced yourself was ok was no longer fully there, though she sat before you. You both held pleasant smiles as tears fell from your eyes. She understood what was happening when she patted the back of your hand. No more denial. She should have

been the one receiving comfort, yet she comforted you.

In the afternoon of this picture you were two souls in a car going sixty-five in a fifty. You had dinner groceries in brown paper bags in the back seat, and the interior of the cab smelled like fresh basil wafting from the plastic produce sack. For your family, you were going to make a pasta dish of fresh vegetables and Feta cheese you had been taught to prepare by a college roommate. It was Moms car, so a string of glass seed beads can be seen swinging from the rearview mirror in the corner of the shot. You can see both her hands confident and firm on the wheel, and they are the most focused part of the photo. Her long sturdy fingers are graceful; their nails rounded to ovals with soft crescent moons. Her hands are in control of this vehicle the way they were of your lives, until she could no longer control her own. These were hands that had sealed your cuts under band-aides and Neosporin. They had turned the pages of books, molded animals in clay, sewn holey shirts, signed permission slips, held glasses of wine, tucked in blankets, shaken thermometers, and chopped infinite onions without crying. These fingers had run along the surface of maps and garage sale classified ads, they had massaged aching shoulders, brushed snags out of long hair, untied knots, and occasionally attempted to tickle bellybuttons that had once attached her to her children.

You had known this woman only as a mother, but she would want the world to

know that she had been more, seen more, and done more than just that. She was an artist who rebelled against housework. She had fantasized a life much different than the one she ended up choosing, and had looked forward to the day, with pleasure, when her time would be her own again. She had once lain on beaches in the sun and been approached by men who didnt interest her, but who made grand gestures for her attention. She had been brave in harrowing situations where any man would have declared himself a hero. She had enacted swift revenge when slighted, with quick, spiteful phrases that impressed onlookers would repeat to their friends over nightcaps. She had stood on the bows of boats with wind in her face, bound for unknown adventure in places visited by curious people. Your mother had stood on a stage holding her blue ribbon in front of a crowd of cheering competitors. She had moved elegantly on dance floors in outfits that were the end result of wise planning, and the envy of the other girls. She had known the answers to all the questions on the test and passed with the highest marks. Shed been kissed after sunset by the cutest boy in school but never got around to bragging about it. Toward the end, but when she could still write, she scrawled all of these memories to you, and others that were fading. They were a form of precious gem- and she said she wished there was a way to put them in a jewelry box and take them with her when she went.

Chapter 17
I think the best pictures are often on the edges of any situation, I dont find photographing the situation as interesting as photographing the edges. --William Albert Allard

The churchs interest in buying the Bafflehaus land had been increasing over the weeks since the Miwok assembled on its steps to hand out flyers. People began pouring

into town the day the Blessed Faith Community Church was set to tour the prospective retreat site. Even Mira, who lived on the land in question, had no idea that the annual Powwow, usually held in Modesto seventy miles away, was to take place in Vanishing River. Big Lou had imposed himself on a few friends, and within two weeks, arranged to relocate the gathering in support his tribe. Close to five hundred dancers, singers, drummers, and spectators gathered in the open field not far from the old church that sat upon a vein of gold. They set up awnings in a semi-circle to be left open for the performers to dance in. One Sioux man from the Midwest danced wearing the feathers of a prairie chicken; Several Navaho women danced adorned in bright colors with pounded-metal beads sewn to their skirts that clinked together when they found a rhythm. Some of the men were bare-chested with moccasins on their feet, and there were a great many long braids on both the men and the women. Though many wore traditional dress, most of the people were in comfortable shirts, jeans, and athletic shoes. Some vendors sold beaded jewelry and turquoise or, for a few dollars you could buy an Indian Taco, which was like a regular taco but for the shell there was a piece of flat bread folded in half. The smell of burning sage hovered in the air near a platform from which an emcee introduced each group of performers the way a sports announcer called out the names of players as they entered the field; only this announcer frequently ululated to generate enthusiasm. "This land belongs to our kin," he explained. "For those of you who might not

be aware of the numbers I want to share some information about this area. We get this from old mission records; In the year 1800, that is only 200 years ago people- there were an estimated 195,000 Miwok Indians living in California. They were peaceful unless they were defending their livelihood. By one hundred years later the same population had dropped to 800! Only 800 souls remained. And by 1951 there were only 109 Miwok left living on Rancherias. He stood silent at the podium as people shook their heads. Would you believe our numbers have increased since then?" The audience cheered. "There are roughly 3,500 people today with some degree of Miwok ancestry. 195,000 to 3,500." He sucked air through his teeth. "But at least we are 3,500 Let us return to the celebration. Maybe if we have enough fun there will be a love connection today and in time we will become 3,501!" The gathered crowd cheered again and the drums took over. That emcee is a full-blood Lakota, Big Lou said to Mira. Fought in Vietnam, too. He pointed to another man in the crowd. His kid was killed in Desert Storm. These people all been through some stuff for this country. I get a lot of inspiration. He held his fist to his chest. Around one large drum sat six men, all striking it with their wands in unison. She was transfixed by the tambour; deep and reverberating. The drummers sang into the single microphone snaking in front of them. The warlike drumbeat focused Miras attention; once she had gotten past the intimidation she let its insistence entrance her- believing that if she concentrated hard enough she may be able to decipher its message.

Watching the dancers enter the makeshift arena Mira noticed a lot of familiar faces: Poppy Redgrove, Allen Windfeather, of Windfeather Auto Sales, Tom Lyons, Carmen Osprey Creek, Michael and Sarah Great Valley, sisters Fern and Loretta Lindley who live in the house next to Alfonsos, Tark was out there, so was his old mother Coraline, and of course Willy Laloon. Together they danced to the mesmerizing rhythm using a bouncing half-jump half-toe tap movement, sometimes shaking rattles or holding flags, or just with hands down to their sides, but always moving as the beat moved through everyone there. Several families danced together. A mother and father in suede animal skin decorated with red, blue, and yellow beads was followed around the ring by their two small children, all with shining black hair and matching outfits. Mira was happy to watch Big Lou, Jo, and her two kids be introduced with all the others and dance steadily around the ring together. When the church sees this theyll realize who this land belongs to, whether they can pay for it or not. Theyll join this celebration in honor of these proud, honest people. The powwow went on until a bonfire was needed to see the dancers. Mira stayed until the flames flickered out and the vendors packed up their dolls and jewelry and clothing. Everyone helped everyone else load chairs and sound equipment and tired children. Then most headed for home, or the homes of kindly hosts. Some camped for the night, or in the case of a few, the local hotel was home for the night. Mira helped Big Lou carry chairs to his pick-up. He stopped to hug someone he

knew and to thank them for making the trip. His smile was large, but his eyes were searching the dwindling crowd for the church members who did not belong, but were still the most anticipated guests of the evening. There is community support here for us, he said triumphantly. No Jeremy, either, though. What would you say to him? she asked, hefting a stack of chairs. I would ask him, Why do you want to do this to us? He would probably say he just wants the money. We have told him, we will give him money when we get up the gold. What if theres no gold? There is gold. We know there is gold under the church. Its scientific. Our ancestors also have many stories about gold in this place. Impatiently he took the last two chairs from her forearms. Mostly, he added, to Jeremy, I would just feel like shaming him for betraying us in this way. But hes a drug addict. She wasnt sure why she was trying to empathize that way. I would say Big Lou flinched as the metal chairs settled with a clatter. That is less then an excuse.

Mira was surprised at how quickly Kitty Conlons belly had grown. Clement was excited to have a new sister or brother, but Haley wasnt as sure, at least not outwardly.

Ruthy was more excited than anyone, it seemed. One of her favorite things to do since she found out there was going to be a baby, was to sit rocking a doll that had been hers since childhood, but that she hadnt picked up in a number of years. The doll was cloth with real hair sewn on to her head. Her name, given by Ruthy, was Bitty Betty, and she was soiled and smelled of aged maple syrup. We hope her mother comes soon, Kitty confided to Mira late one September evening. Ruthy ought to be with family. Thing thatd be most unfair to herd be letting her get attached to this baby. She wants a baby of her own. Shes been of that age for quite a while, even if her head isnt all there about it. I just cant keep looking after her by myself when I got to work and I already got two other kids to look after, and this one coming. She rubbed her belly in a circular motion as she talked. The search for Aida Bafflehaus had been heightened in late August, but she still hadnt bothered to contact Willys office, or the Conlons. No one had heard from Jeremy either, but his presence was felt daily as the battle for his fathers land took on contentious tones. It was just as well that no one ever saw him at the powwow. Nothing hed done in recent years had amounted to anything good; And, if pressed, he would probably be one to agree. There had recently been word that a Native American tribe from Santa Barbara County had offered to help the Miwoks of Vanishing River buy the Bafflehaus land, on the condition that they establish a casino within a year. Big Lou had not yet mentioned this to

Mira. The church from the valley was not as moneyed as the Southern California Indians, but they were just as, if not more determined. Furthermore, they had the support of the local church, which had been collecting donations over the years in order to eventually build themselves a new house of worship. At Willys urging, the Miwoks were now maintaining a contingent on the land at all times. They had decided to become organized and had elected Big Lou as Tribal Leader. He had no time to celebrate his new role as this came at a time when his leadership was needed immediately. Some mornings Mira strolled out among the trees to have a cup of coffee around the campfire with Tark, and Poppy, Big Lou and Jo, who was slowly becoming a friend to Mira. One morning Mira sat next to her by the fire. Jo said she wasnt afraid of going to jail for a cause. She had been to jail at nineteen for robbing a liquor store. I didnt care about stealing no money, Jo said. I just wanted more booze and didnt have no money for it, thats all. Mira wrapped her arms around her knees. The mornings were crisp, and it reminded her a little of home, but without so many of the leaves changing color. How long did they keep you in for? Oh, just bout long enough to do me some good, I guess. Yeah? Oh yeah. Got me straightened out in there, you know? Learned my trade n stuff

like that. Whats that? Farrier. Know what that is? Mira squinted into her coffee. Metal working? Jo nodded. Horseshoeing. She is one of the best! Big Lous voice came from behind them where he was fixing a breakfast of eggs and bacon. Does hot-shoeing. One of the only ones in this area. Most of the other guys like cold-shoeing, cause its easier. Jo turned half-way toward him. The best, you mean! She faced Mira. Also got me dried out, which I been ever since. Congrats. Mira resisted the urge to pat Jo or squeeze her hand. She settled for an approving smile. Yeah, now I got my kids on the weekends and stuff, so things are looking OK for Jo these days. She put her work boot up on the log so she could scratch her ankle under her sock. It was AA, she went on. So, you know, Im actually a Christian. Born again. Dont talk about it much around here these days though, she whispered. I know Christ and that helps me huge, Mira. Guides me, you know? I was pretty bad when I was guiding myself. My kids is both Christian, too Do you know Christ, if you dont mind me asking you? Not personally, I dont really go to church or anything is what I mean. We always

did Christmas and Easter growing up. Jo laughed. Santa and the Easter bunny aint like knowing your saviorYou should come to church with me one of these times. Just so happens I might be doing that. The Kingdom of Heaven Church had scheduled an evening of activities, and had asked Mira to photograph the winners of the annual beauty pageant for the girls of the church. The pageant was to be followed with a musical performance by a local band, called Flock of Sheep, for which Bodey played the drums. He described their sound was a cross between Reggae and 80s Modern Rock. All originals, though he told her. We dont do covers.

The next night at Alfonsos she gave him the story about how she was to judge a pageant for girls. He curled his lip. Are you going? Maybe. But it is objectifying of women, no? I know. I mean, yes it is. But Big Lou begged me for some reason. Begged? Well, I think hes trying to get me to make some ties with the church, so he can have a mole or something like that. Mole?

Like a two-way spy. She peered through peace-fingers turned sideways. Did you know I have invited him for dinner as well? Us bachelors must stick together. I dont know why he didnt just ask Jo? She goes to that church. I dontDo you think theyre a couple? Mira held her glass of Cabernet Sauvignon to her nose. I dont know what they are Will they pay you? You mean for judging the pageant? Unlikely. I bet Ill get a handshake or a prayer. In the kitchen Alfonso was fixing a plate of quesadillas and Mira could hear him singing softly in such a beautiful voice she thought at first it was the radio. He arranged the food and sang in Spanish with increasing sincerity. Eventually he slipped the hot quesadillas off a dry pan and scooped out bowls of sour cream and guacamole. His voice was so beautiful that she was stunned. He hummed to himself and her neck was suddenly a hundred degrees. What about karaoke night? Butterflies swarmed through her chest. She braced herself against the kitchen doorway, watching him carry the food to the living room. You have a beautiful voice. He smiled. What happened that night at pizza? His smile quickly morphed into mock confusion. I only sing well in Spanish, he said as he greeted Big Lou at the door.

Nice place, Big Lou nodded to the room. Playing hostess Mira asked, Can I get you a glass of wine or soda? A soda. My father was a drinker, and one of his brothers. So, I just dont take chances with it. WiseI hope you dont mind if I Oh, nah. Go ahead. Coca Cola, Root Beer, 7-Up? Is that everything you have Alfonso? Big Lou answered, Root beer, no ice. So why do you think I ought to be a part of this pageant at the church? Mira asked. Oh, well, you see, they claim its open to all the girls in town, but thats never been true. Our girls have never been represented in the parade because they are not welcome in the pageant. Thats BS! Mira protested. Any of them would win, thats why, Alfonso interjected. That may be true, but the fact is that year after year our girls are always told the roster is full. So I thought this year we would get them in the pageant, no matter what the roster was. Mira rolled her eyes. Beauty pageants are whatever, anyway. I feel kind of embarrassed to take part actually.

All I am hoping from you, Mira is that you may inform me of when the final walk is scheduled to begin and then to stall if necessary until our Princesses have had their moment on stage Does that make you uncomfortable? Not at all. Big Lous chest expanded. We just want to make our presence known. Well, I can be pretty good at stalling if need be. I think its actually one of my lesser-known talents. Perhaps you can even let us back stage before the show begins. She nodded. Why doesnt Jo help you out? I mean she already goes there, right? Big Lou looked startled. We dont discuss the church, Jo and me. We have agreed not to go there on the subject. Sometimes I forget she even belongs.

Praise for his cooking was so effusive that Alfonso was inspired to change the topic, Now what do you say we have a game? He moved to the tiny sitting area in his house. Cards? Big Lou waved him off. Not in the mood. I lost too much money playing poker last month. Dont you have Scrabble or something? Mira? Would you enjoy Scrabble? Alfonso asked. Are you sure? You guys dont know what youre getting yourselves into, obviously.

Big Lou and Alfonso glanced at each other, grinning. A challenge? Big Lou asked. Perhaps we should wager on the outcome, Mira suggested. I say Big Lou ventured, the winner streaks the neighborhood! Mira shouted in agreement. Wait The losers streak the neighborhood! What are you talking about? The men laughed together. Alfonso agreed with some reluctance. Though maybe not the neighborhood. Maybe just around the house here. Outside of course, but on the property. No! Its no fun if there is no chance anyone will see you Then okay, you guysll streak up the block and back. There are only a few houses, and itll be dark by then anyway. Big Lou taunted her, You are a cocky one. Mira raised her eyebrows and looked down at his crotch. Me cocky? You guys? It will be you my friend; at least that is what I am aiming for! Big Lou said to Mira and then laughed as he clapped Alfonso on the shoulder blade. The terms had been agreed upon and a game was underway. Immediately Mira earned decent points with APEX. Alfonso took his time then started strong as well with PERUSE. Big Lou made an impressive debut with FENCING. The highly competitive level of play created suspicion among them.

In the next rotation Mira surged into the lead with INFIDEL and a bonus fifty points for using all her tiles on one word. Alfonso put down MINE, which gained him very few, and Big Lou struggled before coming up with SAP. Though there were periods over the next two hours where they came close, neither of the men was able to catch Miras score. By eleven oclock the last tile had been counted and it was Mira with 204, Alfonso 145, and Big Lou at 109. She stood up smiling as Big Lou and Alfonso acknowledged each other wearily. Alfonso tried to procrastinate by cleaning the kitchen. I think Ill watch from the front yard, Mira chirped and primped her reflection in the window. You all can strip wherever you want. I say to the skivvies only, Alfonso tried. His face conveyed that he was serious about his modesty. But in the victors opinion that was not considered streaking, and so she watched as they tossed articles of clothing over a bush. Dont either of you start running until I see two pairs of undies on the grass! You can leave your shoes on only. They suddenly darted away in a blur of beige, running faster than either man believed he could. Mira laughed to hide her excitement. Big Lou and Alfonso were laughing too, and whooping in spite of themselves. Mira had resisted the urge to hide their clothes while they were out of her sight, but

it didnt matter as they both flashed by her on their way into the house. The sight of one large fur-covered bottom running next to a smaller smoother one had Mira squealing like a kid on a playground; Her jubilation far exceeding the usual satisfaction of a win at Scrabble.

Chapter 18

Photography is essentially a personal matter- A search for inner truth. --Inge Morath

Mira phoned Fay to let her know she would stop by her house that afternoon when she was finished with a client at the studio. She was in the midst of taking senior portraits for a local high school girl with beautiful hair and painful-looking cystic acne. She closed the studio by early afternoon and fought the wind on her bike to Fays over on the next block. Fay explained her address by describing her brothers miniature village in the yard. My brother works at those little houses all day, she explained. He started them before he got ill. Hes a lot slower-going at it now. Doesnt do much else anymore. These days we have to watch him real close. Oh? Mira queried thinking about her wallet. The garish old woman was heating a frozen potpie, which one could smell over the houses underlying essence-of-mothball. My brother has Alzheimers, so I like to keep him an eye on him for his own protection. Mira waited in his work room in the garage as Fay went to get the information packet that included a name tag, a schedule of events, list of participants, a sheet of entry requirements for the pageant contestants, and a run-down of all the photographs the church committee wanted Mira to take.

The workroom had once been a small garage. There was a medium-sized door, just wide enough for the motorcycle with the sidecar, which now sat outside, permanently covered with a tarp banded over with bungee cords. Small rectangular windows were set high in the walls of the shop and covered in saw-dusted cobwebs. The garage reeked of paint and glue fumes. There was a nice stock of sand paper and varnish, a rack with sheets of glass wrapped in newspaper, a handsaw on a nail, along with an array of hammers and files. The idea was to eliminate anything that could be a danger to Ray, or ostensibly used as a means for escape. But, he cant work without the hammers and saws, she added. So we just kind of left them. Ray was stooped over his workbench wearing a heavy blue apron with a white silkscreen of a chefs hat on fire. He was meticulously shingling the roof of a threebedroom house using scraps of chipped wood and nails as small as eyeglass pins. He mumbled to himself as he ran out of chips and began repeating buck, buck, buck, which made him sound like a hen. Mira attempted to assist in the search, but had no idea what she was looking for. Finally, in a far corner of a supply shelf Ray located an old paint bucket and lugged it to his workspace. Can I help? He was struggling with the weight of it, but rudely shooed her away. He then poured out enough chips to shingle five hundred miniature houses. The chips cascaded to

the floor like an avalanche which covered his bottle of glue. The next task became the search for the missing glue. Suddenly he called out another non-word in a distressed tone until his sister emerged from the house looking perturbed. It was a well-worn expression around her sibling. She was holding the packet Mira had come for. I tried, Mira began to say while struggling with some of the errant chips. He wont let me Oh Ray, Fay shouted in an admonishing tone. He wont let anybody. He lost his glue, Mira explained, pushing aside an armful of chips when Ray was distracted by his sister. Seeing this, he grabbed at Miras hand and tried to shove it away from the mess. He followed that gesture with a hateful look. Ray! his sister admonished as Mira stepped back. I guess Ill see you Saturday night? You guess? You see that you have to be there early, dont you? Mira bobbed her head. Dont just come on time. Thatll be too late. Youll be needed for a lot of preliminary events. Ray was protesting loudly to his sisters help with the chips. Oh youll read all about that, and the dress code: Must be well-dressed. Its a pageant. Youll see in there. Of course well have refreshments for you.

Mira mentally cussed Big Lou for insisting she do this. Ill just find my way out, she said heading to the back gate that had a special closure on it that, unbeknownst to Fay, only proved too complicated for her brother when she was around.

Mira got to the multi-purpose room behind the church, early as instructed, wearing a camera around her neck, a long skirt and a blouse- not really a dressy outfit but she hadnt packed that way. She did put on some lipstick and a pair of earrings, giving one the sense that she had made an effort. Even in New York, Mira rarely dressed up, as that usually required some form of appropriate footwear. Resigned to flats, kitten heels, and ballet slippers, she was plenty willing to give up on looking sexy. This was something her friends didnt know. They were constantly on a mission to gussy her up, thinking that all she needed was the right wardrobe element. The back door to the auditorium had been left open. She contacted Big Lou on a walky-talky hed given her to let him know where he could get in to the building. The rooms along the corridor resembled classrooms and were bustling with girls readying themselves for their big night. The air was thick with hairspray and deodorant. There seemed to be teenaged girls in padded bras and costume jewelry everywhere Mira looked. Many of them appeared to be bickering at mothers wielding curling irons, mascara wands, frilly hair accessories, heals dyed to match sateen dresses. Mira snapped a few photographs for herself, without anyone noticing her. In the bathroom, two topless girls pulled

pantyhose over their thronged cracks, as they quacked at great volume to another girl in a bra and girdle. Fay held court at the end of the hallway, wearing a corsage of carnations on the lapel of her powder-blue suit. She motioned for Mira, who was suddenly caught behind a coagulation of contestants. A pre-teen girl slouched by lugging a basket full of individually wrapped bear-claw pastries. She offered one to Mira just as a group of contestants, many of whom looked overdone beyond anything an average person would have considered a too much. Fay Morningstar, now known to Mira only by her full name, swished up holding a beastly corsage of white carnations peppered with red dye. She aimed the pin at Miras chest as she spoke. We have a special room through that next door there for the judges, she motioned to an area adjacent to the auditorium. It might be a good idea to get the picture of them out of the way now, while you have time. Later, things might be a little busy. The weight of the corsage pulled the neck of her top to one side and she resented feeling obligated to wear it. She muscled through about half an hour with the thing, before leaving it as the centerpiece on a table of refreshments. In the judges room, a gibbous man in a brown wool sport coat and lofty comeover, was perched on the edge of the couch. He looked at Mira from head to foot as she entered. Bob Ripley, he boomed, thrusting out a meaty palm. Mira took it reluctantly then tried to busy herself with her camera. It was just the two of them. Some serious girls out

there, aye? he commented, rubbing his round belly like a man waiting for his lunch. Could be a little older though. His long sideburns curved toward his mouth, giving his grin the appearance of going literally from ear to ear. Thankfully another judge entered the claustrophobic environment. Mira hoped this other woman would derail Bobs line of conversation. They need us to help out with the chairs I guess, reported a prim woman in her fifties. Her hands were at her waist like a teacher. Fayd like us to pitch in until they get all them set up. On her nametag HELEN was written in careful lettering. Bob moved toward the door as ordered, and Helen gave him plenty of space. Thank God, Mira muttered as she neared Helen. Sorry about that man, Helen whispered. I have no idea who invited him, but Fay would not approve if she realized. Well just have to make the best of it. She ushered Mira and the third judge, Lonnie, an attractive young woman Mira recognized from the hair salon, out into the auditorium, where they joined a group of teenage boys in goldenrod STAFF t-shirts, pushing folding chairs into rows. The level of organization the church displayed for this event was surprising. The contestants were identified by numbers pinned to the hips of their formal dresses. The first to enter the dreary wood-paneled room where Mira waited with the other judges and their pre-approved questions. Bob looked eager as 32 made her way to the X taped in the center of the floor.

Helen arranged her packet and triple checked that she had the right contestant sheet in front of her. Mira slouched in her chair and tried to daydream. Number 32 was a round-faced girl with crisp blond curls encrusting the crown of her head. Her dress was sapphire sateen, and as she lay on the floor- having passed out before answering the first question, her skin took on a bluish cast echoing the color of that dress. Just before dropping she began to pant like a poodle, and under her bustle her knees were locked. Lonnie happened to be a cousin of Number 32 and so she eliminated herself as a judge in order to take the girl home. Number 14 was a brunette with a gregarious smile and dcolletage that promised to get her high marks from Bob. It was Helens turn to ask the question. In what way do you feel Gods presence in your everyday affairs. Please give us an example. The girl smiled, and then like a ventriloquists dummy, turned her head right and then left. Well, for ah example I feel his presence here with us. All Gods creatures are loved equally if they are good and follow His laws. She bowed her head. Whenever it was Miras turn to ask a question she always chose the same one, which irritated Bob. That irritation only spurred her on. It was the only question on the list that didnt directly refer to God, Jesus, sin, or the Bible. Who do you admire most, and why? It can be someone you know personally, or someone youve never met. Mira was doing a kind of survey: Twelve out of the thirty-three contestants said Jesus. Sixteen said either their mother, or their grandmother. One said Pastor Rubin, one said Fay

Morningstar, one said her little brother who died of leukemia when he was four years old. One said Jerry Falwell. And just one gave the answer Mira had been hoping for, without realizing she had been. That was Number 6, and she said, Me. Helen suddenly had bookkeeping to do during Number 6s explanation. And why? Mira reiterated the second part of the question. Because Im the only one in my life who I really have, who I can count on. I pretty much take care of myself without any help from anybody. Helen, hearing this part of the interview looked up from her pad of notes. Number 6 went on, That is also why I entered this competition. Not because Im the prettiest, or the smartest, or the one with the Most Poise. I just need the money, and I deserve to win it because Im tough, I work hard, Im honest, Im not going to try to sweet talk ya or act like a person who Im not. Im just wearing a dress I was given by one of the other girls, bless her heart. It doesnt really fit me right, and Im pretty sure it isnt even a good color on me. But I dont think a dress matters that much. Its what you got on inside, and what youre willing to give. The girl who said I could wear this one got something to offer people, so I hope she gets some kind of award, her number is 17 so I guess thats just my answer. I admire myself most, because for one thing I dont really got anyone in my life I can admire all that much. And secondly, I can tell you, this is taking a lot of courage for a girl like me who isnt too much of anything particular, to get up here in front of everybody.

When 6 left the room, all the judges drank fruit punch and ate homemade sugar cookies as Flock of Sheep cleared the stage. Claiming to need the bathroom Mira made sure one of the exits behind the stage was slightly open and attempted to contact Big Lou again, but instead of reaching him she got interference from some truckers in the area. After having not gone to the bathroom she returned to the judges table. Where Helen, and Bob, who it turns out happened to be the owner of an Italian diner in Vallecito, are being introduced to the audience. Mira was embarrassed to hear her own name blasted over the sound system. Everyone was lead in a prayer by Pastor Rubin, and Fay thanked the audience for coming out to support the church. At last, the girls poured onto the stage and floated around its perimeter in their pre-rehearsed formation. They look like members of the Barbie Fashion Brigade. Flashbulbs lit the room like a Hollywood premiere as they paraded to a recording of Pachabels Canon, introducing them selves to the assembled crowd one at time into a microphone on center stage. Mira noticed that all the seats in the auditorium were full, and people were standing in the back. Each patron had paid to enter the event, which meant quite a lot of money for the church for a single night of low-level objectification. As each girl spoke her name and age into the microphone they received either raucous applause and catcalls from their personal cheering sections, or the unenthusiastic mandatory clapping afforded every contestant. Number 6 who had most admired herself, was one of the girls receiving the mandatory version and Mira broke the rules by cheering

wildly for her. The evening was no longer novel to Mira who was longing for her soft pillow. When Im in I want to be out. When Im out I want to be in. The pageant participants on the other hand, seemed to feel just the opposite. The excitement backstage was dizzying and for a fleeting moment the competing was over and no outcome had yet been announced, leaving each girl as a friend to every other. The din of the crowd increased once the Audience Choice ballots had been collected. Bob was sweaty, agonizing over his scores. Helen used a calculator and then seemed surprised by her outcomes. Buying time for Big Lous plan- which seemed at this point to have gotten derailed, Mira spent as long as she could, deliberating her scores. In the end Number 6, named Kristen, was awarded third place over all, which meant she took home $100 and a plaque. A boisterous cheerleader-type, by the name of Juliet was awarded second place, $200, and a trophy. And first place was handed to a studious and somewhat introverted girl named Katerina, who had glistening puffs of brassy hair that dangled from her head like tassels. She also exhibited tremendous a bosom, over which a felt sash was now draped. She won $300, a tiara, and the honor of riding in the lead car during the annual Fourth of July parade through town. The three winning girls were seated together in the middle of the stage with mixed spring bouquets in their laps, as the winners of the second-tier awards stood behind them holding certificates with ribbons stapled to the upper left-hand corners. Mira took copious

photos of the assemblage hoping she would run out of film. Everyone without a ribbon was led from the stage, some rejoicing in the fact that the pageant was over, and others fighting tears or giving in to them. Backstage a few minutes later Mira noticed that Big Lou had been detained by several of the contestants mothers. He was claiming to be lost. Mira pretended not to notice him, per his earlier instructions, should this scenario come about. By now several high school girls in a flashy take on traditional Native American dress, were moving about the auditorium searching for their leader. (He was eventually released and went home without seeing them.) They made several rounds in the seating area among all the other guests who also paid admission. A few of the young women from Big Lous tribe shared in awkward conversation with several of the real contestants who were their friends from school. There was no good way to explain what they were doing there dressed that way. As often happens, the girls had no contingency plan for failure. Mira left the auditorium before the dance portion of the evening began, but heard that several men sought her out during the slow songs, including Bob Ripley. She had been so stealthy during her escape that no one noticed her disappearance. She was already at home, warm in bed next to George by the time Bob resigned himself to asking Helen for a dance. It was the first of several the two would share that evening. And, after the hours had run out and many unforeseen longing glances had been exchanged between them, Helen, (who was twelve years-divorced and hadnt seriously dated a man in all that time, let alone

spent the night with one,) went home with Bob of all people, where he made her feel like the teenager they both wished she was. Jo drove by and then stopped as Mira made her way home. Jos long sliver hair was tied back in a ponytail, she wore dirty work clothes, and carried a toolbox full of implements Mira couldnt identify. Hey there! she said as she went toward Jos car. Late night? Eh, there was a problem with one of the horses I shoed today. So I had to go back out and take a look. Mira climbed on her bike next to the car. The lady who owns them thought one I did was a little short of the heel. Of course thats no good. Wasnt the case though. The mare hadnt been shoed properly before and was just getting used to having her hoofs at the right angle. Took her joints some getting used to. Good you went out though, right? Mira asked. Oh yeah. Missed the pageant, didnt I? Oh well, gotta check those things, even if its just suspected. Thats why Im respected around here. They know Ill come out if theres any problem with my work That is rare, if there is a problem. She shook her finger at the air as she said it. Mira smiled. Id love to tag along with you sometime, and take pictures and whatnot while you work.

Im going out tomorrow. Just like everyday. Youre welcome to come. Let me know. Tomorrow is cool. Should I come by here? Ill get you. I know where you are. And she waved to Mira from the doorstep.

The next morning Jo picked Mira up and they drove a few miles outside of town in Jos rust colored El Camino. They pulled up in front of a little half-built structure inside a well-built fence. When Jo called her, a short gray and white Palomino came from the other side of the pen. Sappy, was the name of the mare and she greeted Jo the way dogs do when they love their master. She seemed to jump a little from side to side and tried to get close enough to nuzzle Jo. Let me show you something. Jo led Mira into the unfinished shelter. There was no wall on one side, and the finished part had cobwebs stringing from the rafters. Jo plucked a four by six inch dust-covered photograph, from the crook of one of the support beams. She rubbed it gently with her elbow sleeve and handed it to Mira. The version of Sappy in the picture was like a corpse standing. Jesus! What was wrong? Mira tried holding the picture closer to make sense of what she was looking at. Malnourished to the point of skeletal, covered in clumps of grime, matted mane, and the strangest part: hooves that looked like elf shoes; narrow and curling back and upward toward her legs. They didnt even look like hooves. Why why do her feet look like

that? Its what hooves look like if you dont trim em and you confine an animal like that to a small space. Is that the same horse? Yep. Im building this place for her. Jo slaps one of the wooden slats on the wall next to them. Just takes a lot of time. Little bit of money too. But, mostly time. I got to work too, you know? Mira was still staring at the picture, trying to comprehend the hooves. How did this happen? Ive never seen anything like it before. Terrible neglect. By who? How could somebody not know that was wrong? Just a lady I know. She gave her to me. Its for the better. Mira was vexed. Cant you go to jail for treating an animal this way? Jo shrugged. It was terrible. But, I owe that lady my life, pretty much so I took over Sappys care. She gave me some money too, to get this place built up, but I aint finished it yet, obviously. Who is she? Nah. I keep it to myself. I owe her too much. My life. Im not kidding about that. Keeping her horse was the least I could do. Then she gave her to me! Another gift I cant pay back. I would be dead without that lady.

Who ever she is, you dont care that she treated your horse like that? She just didnt know any better Horses require a lot of care. You know? You cant just pen em up and feed em once in a while. She just didnt understand it. How did she save your life? I mean you dont have to tell me who she is or anything. Just curious. Did she really save you? I was sick, few years back, and pregnant. No money for doctors. I went to a healer and he gave me some herbs but I wasnt cured. Was going to get rid of my son. You know she saved him too. I had some diabetes I guess. I went to another healer bout fifty miles from here. Real nice guy. His chants and his salves helped me a lot but I still had the same problem. Then this lady, you know the one who gives me this horse tells me that God can heal me and she starts praying for me night and day. She told me a few things about what I should eat and she laid her hands on me and prayed. We prayed together, and I prayed at home and a miracle happened. I havent had no diabetes since I become born-again. You just prayed? I was a Christian before though. Just not a practicing one like thatpraying and all and having my relationship with Jesus. In AA I sort of got back into it, but not until this lady saved my life. I realized the power of God in me. Uh huh, Mira was complacent. My grandma was a Christian. But, that was one reason I kind of got away from it. She was a full-blood and they sent her to a boarding school and converted her and all that.

People working there got her pregnant with my ma, too. So, it was not all a pretty story. But, in the end I was baptized a Christian, and I eventually came back to thatIts in the genes I guess. She smiles. Im happier this way. Big Lou dont understand, but everything I do cant always make sense to everybody else, long as it makes sense to me. For the next several hours Mira helped Jo frame the foundation for the other half of the barn, stopping occasionally to snap a photo of her friend at work. Over the weeks following she would return three or four times to help, and on one occasion Jos eldest son was there to work too. They talked about a lot of things while they hammered and sawed, ate sandwiches. But Jo never let slip the name of the woman who was paying for all the cement and the two-by-fours.

The next morning, Mira lay in bed luxuriating for hours, occasionally reading a book, falling asleep again, waking up and allowing her mind to drift to thoughts of Alfonso, and then back to sleep. At almost one oclock in the afternoon she finally got dressed and went outside to check for mail. Haley and Clement sat in a dirt patch in the middle of the yard surrounded by the rutted tracks of toy trucks set up in front of a burm they made for racing. Are you thick? Clement questioned. Both kids were dirty, so much so that Clement didnt even bother to wipe away the layer of dust from his glasses. There was no need for him to shield his eyes from the sun, as Haley did, when he looked up at Mira from

below. No, I was just relaxing and reading and stuff You guys should have eye protection. Will you buy us some? Haley asked hopefully. Mira twisted her mouth. One of these times Im getting the mail, right now. She started walking toward the large mailbox down from the driveway. I didnt mean right now, Haley explained. Want me to put you in there? Mira chided. I wont fit now. Will I? Wont know unless we try. Will you take us swimming at the pool? I dont know. Mom thays you cant go to the pool anymore. Yes I can! But you got thunburned. That was a long time ago, Clement. But it wath bad. Yeah, but I can go now. You looked like a pepperoni. Mira said, Ew. Sounds like we shouldnt go there.

Clement! See what you did? God. Do not uthe the lordth name in vain. She glared at him. Will you let us take pictures with your camera? Haley pleaded at Mira from ten feet away. Then she added, Cuz were bored. At the mailbox there were two pieces for Mira. Usually mail with her name on it was a stipend check stub from the museum, very occasionally a care package from a friend or family member, sometimes a delivery for Ruthy, but usually it was junk mail for the Conlons or Frank. In spite of knowing the odds, each of Miras trips to the mailbox were infused with anticipation. She never let her mind rest on a specific idea of what she hoped would be in there, and that was how she liked it. The feeling behind all the possibilities of what could be delivered to her created an anticipation she didnt want limited even to the bounds of her imagination. She wanted to let that hopeful feeling permeate her existence. But, if she had let herself hope for any one possible correspondence- there would have been one, of course. And today was the day for it. It was a postcard, which she almost missed, dear god, because it was stuck to a piece of junk mail about free credit reports. The first word she had gotten from Art since their odious conversation had ended in the reviled, Take Care. She resisted reading immediately what was written on the back of the card. The front was one of her favorite photographs called Lela, taken in 1940 by a French

photographer named Eduoard Boubat. It was of a young woman, who Mira assumed was on a boat. There was a wavy breeze in the girls hair, which Mira imagined was a rose blond color. Her open face looked out to places the viewer could not see, and it was not clear if she was looking forward or back, but one got the impression that it was forward. She wore a thin white linen blouse, and through it one could see her black brassiere. Brassiere instead of bra in this case, as it is not of the delicate sort. Mira had always admired this photo because the girl was stalwart. Looking it now she was suddenly aware of the vulnerability in the girls disposition which she had not really noticed before. It was detectable only in the subtle positioning of her lips. And yet, Lelas tenderness was not a hindrance, but the impetus for the way she stared out at the sea, trying to absorb every detail of her journey. Shuffling back toward her house, Mira nearly stumbled over Haley, who was running her miniature VW bug through a muddy patch created to resemble a swamp. Miras toe sent one of Haleys other cars into one of Clements. Not sure exactly how this happened, Haley focused her disapproval on her brother. Will you teach us to take pictures? Haley implored Mira. Miras mind was out to Lelas sea. Sometime. Once inside, Mira sat herself firmly in her most solid chair before turning the postcard over. During the walk from the mailbox she had purposefully driven from her mind all thoughts of what the card might say on it. She waited until she had achieved a

perfect state of neutrality before flipping it over to reveal the words Art had jotted, amounting to a limerick, in place of real sentiment. In New York she is missed. To Cali she enlists. Now we await, as the hour grows late, the art of the man known as Frank. Months ago this might have impressed the hell out her, God knows why; and she would have read it over at intervals, sniffed its surface for olfactory gratification or clues to anything at all, and she may have even displayed it like an artifact behind glass. But, reading it now elicited little emotion in her besides slight irritation at the attempted rhyme. Moments later, she did display the postcard, image-side out, in the frame of her mirror next to the other postcards she had received. But the reason she put it up was for its depiction of the woman whose essence Mira aspired to embody. A woman she imagined never cared overly-much for the loops and crosses in the handwriting of any man. The soft rapping of knuckle against wood behind Mira turned out to be Haley. I could wash something for you, the kid offered when Mira answered the door. So youll let me take pictures? You dont have to do anything for me. If you want to do something, you should go and help your mom. Haley stood pondering, pinching her lower lip with her front fingers. But I already do, she finally answered. My chores. Like what? Mira listened as she dug through her suitcase for the inexpensive digital camera she had brought with her. She didnt tell Haley what she was searching for.

Like dishes and stuff, and I pick up my toys and stuff. And stuff, Mira mimicked. Triumphantly she held up the camera she had mined from her suitcase. The little girls pupils widened. Her voice filled with excitement, Ill wash Mamas sink! Hmm. You dont have to plan it out so much. But, when the opportunity arises, do something nice for her. Some day youll think back on it and youll be grateful you did. Ok. Ill tell you when I do. I dont need to know, as long you know, and she knows. Right then, they were interrupted by Clement running across the yard waving his hands in the air. The church wath robbed! The church wath robbed! Get inthide and cloth your door!

f/6.7

Youd seen pictures like this before of Native American children in front of a white clapboard school, on a plot of sod in the middle of somewhere no one wanted to be. Dressed in white uniforms, their hair and faces a closer match for the color of the dirt than the building. They didnt belong there and you could see how awkward they felt in collars buttoned to the chin. They were supposed to depict shining examples of mainstreaming. These photos usually came in pairs; A before: savages in tattered rags, feathers and shells, wild hair, angry expressions. And after: civilized United States citizens, clean, orderly, trimmed, and vacant. How cute. You were supposed to look at the before and afters and think of the possibilities life would offer these children, lucky to be chosen. You were to be amazed at what a little lye soap and a pair of scissors could do. They had futures now; The new generation of Indians in America. They were going to succeed beyond their chiefs greatest hopes. Compared to a filthy existence among teepees, hunting and gathering, riding horses and walking barefoot to get anywhere; These kids were going to marry, hold steady jobs, live in respectable homes, even eat in restaurants. The motto was: Kill the Indian, save the man.

Here is an example of one of these photos taken in front of an imposing building. In it, at the end of a pole flies a flag that only the trained eye would notice contains forty-five stars. Crowded on to four long steps are forty-four young girls, two nuns, and a priest. At the end of the front row, taller than her peers is Jos great-grandmother at thirteen. Her face is long like her great-granddaughters, her eyebrows high on her forehead, her nose straight and thin. Its also Jos shoulders you recognize on this woman; broad like a mans and you ascertain this must be where her great-granddaughter inherited her strength. Jos great-grandparents were enslaved by newcomers to the land; Pioneers who ignored carefully negotiated treaties and took possession by will or firepower. Their daughter, Willow-Leaf-in-Spring, still at an impressionable age was renamed Bertha and taken to be raised by strangers so that she could fit into a new society. She was eight when the BIA shunted her away to this catholic boarding school where she was taught to forget her native Penutian language and her parents, whom she never saw again. They also took her sister, Blue-curls, renamed Leeda, to be raised in the same school. Leeda was only five at the time and died of pneumonia within the first year. You can see the stress on the faces of these girls; None quite able to live up to their schoolmasters expectations. They learned how to wear western clothing, how to style their hair, to cook and sew and make a bed properly. Bertha was good at getting dressed and making beds, but learning to speak English and attending church were two things she struggled with. Shed come from a world where she was surrounded by family members,

sleeping together in the roundhouse, playing in the river during summer, learning to weave baskets, and what to harvest when to ensure another crop the following year. Now, unlike the boys at the school, she was rarely let outside to play. Learning the proper way to set a table, and how to eat with manners seemed paramount to the Anglos. Some of the schools staff was part of the church and one priest in particular, standing behind Bertha in the photo, took special interest in her upbringing. His hand rests on her shoulder in a gesture of affection, or ownership. (People rarely smiled in pictures back then because it took so long to expose the plates, also because most people had very bad teeth, so its not a surprise there are scowling faces here.) Yet there was real sorrow present, and it could only be explained by looking underneath those natty white dresses. Bruises on Berthas wrists are hidden under her long cotton sleeves; Marks received for failing to understand one of the customs of her new Anglo life: that she must submit to the will of her benefactors. Layers of crinoline and petticoats hide cuts on the backs of her thighs from whippings received for failing to memorize scripture. Also under those petticoats was the belly that contained this priests half-breed child, fathered as a way to teach young Bertha a lesson. The baby is Jos mother, born to Bertha in the school infirmary at the age of fourteen and named in memory of her sister. But Leeda was changed on the birth record to the priests mothers name, and instead of his surname a generic one was given. They called the child Lydia Smith and had her sent by courier to a rancheria in California to be raised by cousins. The only record of Jos great-grandfather is

this foggy, sepia-toned print on cracking cardboard. Standing next to Bertha is her best friend in this hell, a Pomo girl named Eliza by her kidnappers. She is petit with delicate features coveted by the Caucasian women at the school. Also impressed was the priest whod fathered Berthas child. But in Eliza he saw himself as a savior rather than a keeper. His angel was two years older than her friend and well along with her first child when this picture was taken. The priest eventually left the church and married Eliza, or so Bertha was told, and took her and their infant to live with him in Oklahoma. That was the last Jos great-grandmother would see of her friend or of her childs half-sibling. Lydia never met her father of course, or her mother who died of tuberculosis before the age of sixteen, but she was given this photograph to remember them by and though she understood it was a lie, she still passed down the story of the great love between her grandparents.

Chapter 19
Tough meant it was an uncompromising image, something that came from your gut, out of instinct, raw, of the moment, something that couldnt be described in any other way. So it was tough. Tough to like, tough to see, tough to make, tough to understand. The tougher they were the more beautiful they became. -Joel Meyerowitz

The same morning Mira was out photographing tombstones in the cemetery down the lane. At the Kingdom of Heaven Church, the news was good. It was entering in a partnership with the Blessed Faith Community from the valley, to purchase all six hundred sixty-four acres of the Bafflehaus land. The Kingdom of Heaven would be expected to contribute a large sum of good faith money to help the deal along. These interim funds were to be used to keep the BFC from negotiating for land in other communities while the

legalities of the purchase were being resolved, or as Pastor Rubin described it, While jumping through the fiery hoops of our legal system, to ensure what God has already granted us sovereign rights over. The next bit of church news involved the success of the beauty pageant in its selection of a lovely girl to represent the town in the annual parade. The winning girls waltzed on the front stage at church wearing modest Sunday morning attire. Haley informed her father at this point that she had decided she would be a Parade Girl one day. To which he replied, Well have to see about that. The pageant also fulfilled its primary function as a fundraiser. The congregation licked their lips as the church treasurer, Jim Tabney came forward to proclaim their net profit for the event; Including entrance fees, refreshments, raffle tickets, and t-shirts the church took in $15,086.87, which was a lot of money to an organization that was lucky to gather one percent of that in their Sunday basket. This was not a wealthy community, but it can be said that when it came to their church, the members always gave what they could. Foremost in their minds when they dropped coins or bills into the basket was the possibility that one day soon they would have a glorious place to converge in worship. The congregation was allowed to enjoy their success for a few moments before Pastor Rubin plodded back up to the podium. Now, Good People, we have a grave matter on our hands, and Im afraid it may not be easily solved. I wont go into great detail about how our weekly collections are

stored, but I will tell you that it is kept in a number of places throughout the church for security reasons. There is a portion kept in the bank as well, but it has always been a tradition of this church to look carefully after its own funds. Ironically, I must say, it is the money in the bank, which is at this moment quite safe. For much of the rest I cannot say the same. People were silent. The air in the room was claustrophobically moist. Yet, not a single door or window is thrown open. What Pastor Rubin spoke of was considered a private matter, and it was to be kept within the walls of the auditorium. He went on, I am sorry to say at this time that, a great deal of our on-campus funds have gone missing We have reasons to believe that a portion of it may have been missing for quite some time, but as of now we have no explanation. Now most of the people were sitting silently. They didnt dare look accusingly at one another. Every person in the room knew that no person including their selves were safe from suspicion. Pastor Rubin continued speaking in the stultifying atmosphere. Stolen from our vaults, as I said, over time, most likely, is somewhere in the amount of roughly $350,000 There was a collective gasp. Now, now, now, now, he stuttered, Now we have a sizeable amount remaining, both in the bank and in our most secret of vaults And we are very confident we will be able to recover the missing funds. But it goes without saying that we would like to see this money returned immediately. For this reason we have

not yet contacted the police, as we believefor the moment that someone within the congregation may wish to come forward with information. We would like to give that person ample opportunity to redeem themselves in the eyes of God before involving the less forgiving long arm of the law. I am sorry also to say that we have some information, which gives us good reason to look outside the church for our thief. There is already evidence to suggest that ultimately our local Indian community may have been at least in part responsible. The escalating din became a bellow in the back of the eardrum. Now, now. We mustnt jump to any conclusions today. But, this money, of course, has never been more needed than it is at this very moment in time. As we said earlier, the church is on the brink of some very exciting opportunities. We are planning to launch an all-out investigation within a matter of hours. However, and this is where you all must listen carefully. Pastor Rubin paused to gain full attention of the anxious crowd. Ive assembled a team of investigative representatives, including myself If you have any information regarding this crime you are asked to come forward and speak with us immediately. We will be available in the old chapel after the service. You are free to remain anonymous if you choose, by phoning the office voicemail, especially if you suspect a loved one or friend. In those cases, I urge you to take very seriously into consideration the status of the afterlife of the person who may have done this. Without proper penance and counseling, this person, or people, who are involved, will surely spend an eternity burning

in the pits of hell. The Pastors face was rubescent, a rare state for him. Unsightly spittle flew from his lips as he spoke. He breathed deep, raising his shoulders and then dropping them, then raising and dropping them again. With a crimp in his lower lip, he went on to explain, There are many reasons in this age why one cannot always be blamed for desiring to steal to ensure food on the table for children, roofs over heads, clothing to keep warm, bills to pay, money to put gas in the car, or to keep the house warm But who ever has done this has robbed from ALL of you, pointing, pointing, pointing, and for that they should feel ashamed! They should have come forward for help, and they would have been given it! I will not say that whoever you are you will not be met with disdain upon your admission, but with the proper pleas for forgiveness and subsequent hours of service to the church, even your soul can be saved from this abomination. In that light, it could turn out that this act will became your saving grace. Dont throw away eternity for frivolous purchases. Dont do it even for bread on the table. Come forward now and save yourself from damnation! I puh-lead with you! His tone changed from one of shouting to a softness he always used at the end of a service. Let us pray. Every person in the room bowed their head in silence and before anyone could say Amen, the hunt for the culprit was on.

Mira had been snapping pictures of building facades, tree branches, flowers and

empty fence-posts where Stellar Jays and Nuthatches had been sitting the second before. She rode her bike to Big Lous house to find everything closed up. His truck was parked in its usual spot. She knocked several times and no one answered the door. Its Mira, she had called in gently, but never found out if there was anyone there to hear her. The ride there felt too far, but the ride home lugged on much longer. What if the stolen money and Big Lou urging me to judge the pageant are somehow related? The local Miwoks have been in need of money for some time to secure their official status as a tribe, but she didnt think he, or any of his people would resort to robbery. Still it would make sense if they were trying to thwart the church from buying their land, while at the same time gaining money to buy it for them selves. Mira felt like a cold shadow was staring over her shoulder, just having to consider Big Lou as a possible thief. She didnt really think he would do something that desperate and yet the idea was there. Partway home she turned around and rode back to see Alfonso. He wasnt home either and she roamed his screened-in porch for an embarrassing length of time. Exactly how long, she wasnt sure because she had stopped wearing a watch when she had gotten the splinters. Mira left the porch only once to watchfully pee behind a wall of hedges. Into the early evening she paced the small garden area, plucking dead leaves from Alfonsos potted plants, sweeping debris from his knotted-twine mat using a small hand brush she found behind the step. She used her spit and the corner of her t-shirt to clean the outside of the

peephole in his door. As she waited compulsively for Alfonso, she had no idea what situation she was missing out on the land behind her house. On her way home, two police cars and an ambulance passed her on the access road near her house. She recognized Willy Laloons car parked next to Lloyds jeep. There had been an accident and it would be several weeks before all the details were understood. Big Lou stood with the other members of his tribe to the roundhouse built for the powwow. His hands were covered in blood. Willys dog Sequoia, lay in the grass, dead from a wound to the neck. And next to him lay the church treasurer, Jim Tabney. Two emergency medical technicians were performing CPR. Only moments before, Tabney had ordered the dog to Stand down! Sequoia most likely detected in Tabney a terminal mix of terror and cowardice, one of the worst odors to a dog. He was smart and knew to back down; not to taunt his aggressor. He gently lowered himself into a submissive pose, exposing to Tabney his softly furred belly. No one should have been afraid of him. He wont hurt you! Willy had called out. When the dog rose to go to his master Willy repeated himself, but his voice had escalated into cries as the man of God, and law, withdrew the pistol from a holster on his side and fired two blasts without warning. They sounded like fire crackers and hit the dog twice in the neck. Several more shots were heard. Some witnesses reported hearing three, others only two. Sequoia dropped instantly to his

side, lying in a way that dogs dont lay, and he stared up at the horrified people around him. His body was paralyzed as he bled-out. His human-like eyes searched the pack for some mercy. Those eyes pleaded How could this be? In them Willy saw, Why did you hurt me? I havent done anything. I was doing as I was taught. Sequoias life was over in a few seconds. Willy, his face twisted like a wrung towel, collapsed futilely on top of his beloved animal. The quick-draw deputy was also down, blood pouring from the side of his vest; unconscious with thin and rattling breath. Two of his friends, their sleeve cuffs and the knees of their khakis soaked in blood, did their best to apply pressure to the wounds they could see. Jim Tabneys life too, could not be saved. A few feet away from the dying man, Willy lay sprawled next to Sequoia, his own gun having slipped to the ground from its holster inside his jacket. Seeing it, Big Lou snatched up his friends twenty-two, secured the safety, and tucked it into his own waistband, out of sight. Once the police finally arrived, Willys gun would not stay hidden for long and Big Lou would not see his own bed for many days. Mira watched as they stuffed him into a squad car. Only hours late the authorities were granted the right to search Big Lous house; Afterward, it would appear ransacked by thieves. They found exactly what they were

looking for: half a million in cash hidden on the premises. Far more than what the police had anticipated, and they triumphantly seized the lot for the church. It was Big Lous life savings, for which he now he would have no recourse for reclaiming. He would not discover its loss until he was released from jail, and found that even the compartment under his trick kitchen floorboard had been raided. Exactly how they had discovered the money hidden there he would never find out. Big Lou was kept in a cell by himself, charged with the execution of a man that many in this community respected, a man who could not be buried until the detectives completed their investigation. In the time that it took for that investigation, Big Lou resigned that the land must be secured by the Miwoks, even if it required a casino. Willy Laloon informed Big Lou that in order to build a casino on non-Indian land there had to be community support for the project. Without that they needed the approval of Governor Brown himself. That night, thinking of her friend in a jail cell, Mira could not sleep. At three in the morning she cautiously crossed the yard to the main house to fix herself a drink from Franks liquor cabinet. She crumpled on his couch under an abrasive wool blanket that smelled of cologne and cigar smoke. She wore that blanket like a hair-shirt. Her mind was with her friend in jail, and the knowledge of his discomfort kept her from ease. After finishing one drink, one episode of the Twilight Zone, and half a Perry Mason, Mira fell asleep, drooling liberally into the small pillow covered in a stiff African

weaving. It was lucky that she had done this with the TV on because to Jeremy Bafflehauss compromised consciousness, a glowing television tube in his fathers den was the ultimate deterrent; even more so than an alarm sounding or a barking dog. Hed been trained during his teen years that if the TV was on at a late hour and he was out after curfew, it meant his father, who rarely watched television, was awake inside and waiting for him. On those nights Jeremy opted to sleep at a friends house or in his car, even one time sleeping on the ground outside, fearing more than anything, his fathers ire. On this night, he successfully avoided all the automatic security lights, not that they mattered, and quietly tried several windows and doors. Denied easy entry he crept to his car to get a crowbar. He planned to climb through a window and steal anything he could sell. However, the moment he noticed the glow of the television he promptly dispensed with the mission. The memory of those late night encounters with his father numbed him mid-step at one of the darkest corners of the house, his twitchy silhouette outlined by the moonlight. He may have believed it to be his fathers ghost, or perhaps just someone waiting with a shot gun, but whatever he imagined it was enough to get him breathlessly back to his truck. Having left the drivers side door open he shifted into neutral and pushed it along, steering with one arm and propelling the car with the other, a Herculean effort, so that the machine could glide away from the house silently. After he was out of the earshot of his fathers ghost, he started up the engine and left his childhood home, broke as dawn.

Big Lou had been held in jail for two days when Mira and Alfonso met Willy at Anitas Diner before their visit to the jailhouse. She ordered a side salad and fried chicken with mashed potatoes and gravy. Alfonso had a BLT and Willy couldnt eat, so he sat slurping several cups of decaf coffee. They think it was him, Mira said. Besides the shooting, I mean the money. Willy compacted his paper napkin in his fist. Ive been on him for years to straighten out his finances. What about his taxes? Or copies of receipts for customers? Mira asked. He cant claim that money if he cant prove it was his in the first place hell have nothing after this And his health he just cant afford for this to happen. But he couldnt have shot that guy. Right? They have to release him. Of course he didnt. Willy face looked pale, as if he hadnt been sleeping. He had nothing to do with any of this. I am sorry for the loss of your dog. Alfonso patted Willys wrist. I am surprised Big Lou never mentioned he had a gun. Willy shook his head. I knew about the money, but... We ought to ask Jo, Mira offered. He didnt have money problems until yesterday. But why would he be carrying his gun around like that? Protecting his land, Willy countered. Im representing him of course. Ill get him out of there. His voice broke, I will get him out. I have to. No question.

At the jail Big Lou was enormous for his tiny cell. Anguish clamped Miras heart. Its not so bad, he said, and took her hands through the bars. Miras neck itched. You didnt shoot that guy, did you? she asked in a halfwhisper. Yes, I did, he replied and looked to his lawyer. I must have hit the dog by accident. Dont go around saying anything like that, Willy advised. But, it was too late. I have confessed. He slapped his hands to his knees decisively and smiled. I have already written my statement to the police. You did not! Willy scolded. Yes. It is taken care of, my friend. Big Lou smiled wider. Willy looked around the visitation room. Sequoias death this is not your battle. What do you mean? Mira asked. What happened out there? Willy looked down at his hands. I dont know. Did youDo you know what actually happened? Alfonso interrupted looking at Willy. Big Lou was emboldened. Shot that motherfucker. Thats what I did. He smiled again. You keep it down! Willy snapped.

The sheriffs deputy put his head into the room. This is a capital murder case. Only supposed to be one visitor at a time. His lawyer is staying, Willy called back and then ushered Mira and Alfonso out. As they left Mira could hear him pleading to Big Lou, You cant do this. We need you too much on the outside, Big Lou responded. I am strong enough for this. In front of the police station they ignored the newspaper reporters clogging the sidewalks. Mira overheard a neighbor of Big Lous being interviewed on camera. He was just a nice guy. He was pretty quiet. Just a nice man. Regardless of the police investigation, Mira knew the damage of a statement like He was quiet- kept to himself. Alfonso put his arm around Mira shoulder as they waited for Willy to rejoin them. She was too worried about Big Lou to enjoy it. How could he have killed that guy? she wondered aloud. He couldnt have done that, could he? Alfonso tightened his grip. It was an accident. But, do you think he stole that money? That night at the pageant? Remember we couldnt figure out why he wanted me to go so badly? Alfonso let go of her. Lets not make assumptions, he said, looking away from her. Willy will sort it out. Everything will work out fine. She folded her arms tight in front of her. Did you trust Willy in there just now?

He nodded and shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. Mira turned her face toward the clouds and had to swat at a blow fly trying to get into her eyes.

When the land dispute in Vanishing River had first appeared in the small print of several local newspapers, it was no more than a few paragraphs. After that, it was picked up by the Modesto Bee, the newspaper of the nearest large city and the location of the Blessed Faith Community Church. Modesto was a flat place full of strip malls and tract housing and Mira wondered if Jeremy Bafflehaus had been living there since the reporter for that paper found him for an interview. When Jeremy was asked if he felt any loyalty to either group interested in buying the land, he admitted to caring little about who owned it next or what they did with it. He was a businessman, he claimed, and was looking to get what he could from the property, as quickly as he could get it. He claimed he was not the discriminating type and with that at least, Mira agreed. I got nothing against the church, Jeremy said in the interview. And I got nothing against the Indians. Whoevers got the money is all I care about. Money doesnt discriminate.

Mira left the jail that afternoon under the same cold rain that pummeled the hills, jolting everyone with an occasional thunderclap followed by a white-purple jag of

lightening that outlined the dense clouds beyond, lighting her way home. Once she was she was inside her house, she looked at her cell phone, plugged dutifully into the wall. No Service. No Surprise. She took out paper to write a letter to her dad, but she just sat there with the sheet in front of her; On it a single stroke- the backbone for the letter D in Dear. She went outside to her shower, peeled off all her clothes; succumbing to her bodys thirst for the sky to open up on her. She wondered if she may have wanted this sensation many times before without knowing that it was something to be craved. It had, until this moment, remained an urge unidentifiable; A restless feeling with no means for release. Standing in the scalding water as it mixed with the cold invisible raindrops falling out of the darkness, Mira had the same feeling on her skin as she had in her core; An indefinable rawness. Exhilarated, she held her arms out like a challenge for the lightening to strike her; certain it wouldnt, yet knowing still that it could. And very well might. She posed as if balancing on the edge of a high dive, every part of her- strong but trembling.

f/6

You had to hang this one in your kitchen, it was so good. This bakery was a sparkling, living world as much like a factory as a kitchen. Some of the adults you can see walking by on the sidewalk outside the display windows seem oblivious to the splendors within. Its the children who know what they like who peer in eagerly through the window with the words Dulcet Sweet Shop painted in metallic gold. Also painted is a picture of a cigar and under it, 25c. You recognize this location as one that is still open on the main street today, but now its a thriving butcher shop. The photo was taken in about 1955, and the woman in it looks old by this time, and shell be gone in a few years. She wears her white hair in a black net and smiles bearing only her gums. Her apron is light-colored and smeared with something like chocolate. In front of her are rows of various candies and baked goods, displayed in a way that could only have been for the camera. Stretching out before you is a ridiculous array of treats; manic looking in their abundance and diversity. The luscious confections are arranged on hard-pressed paper dishes, with white paper doilies. Pound cake, bundt cakes with dark and light frosting dripping down their sides, raspberry layer cake, rectangular cake with butter cream frosting, individual carrot cakes, key lime pie, chocolate mousse, chocolate clairs, croissants dusted with powdered sugar, pineapple upside down cake, cup cakes with candy pieces mushed

into the frosting, angel food cake, strawberry tarts, rhubarb pie, lemon bars, short cakes, glazed fruit tarts, petit fours, apple strudel, and cheesecake, both baked and unbaked. And this is only the first and second rows! The air in the bakery smells of baking brownies and chocolate chip cookies. The scent of baked apples waft into your nose when you stand next to the cooling rack full of caramel apple pies. You acquire a light coating of flour just by being here. So has the woman in the picture, who is laughing like she cant believe it all herself. The bakery is huge and she is standing in part of a work area behind the refrigerated cases where the goods are displayed for sale. These days this part of the building has become a storage area for the butcher shop. Now, sides of beef and pork hang from hooks along a ceiling trolley. Slabs lay on display inside a glass case. In those days this was a real bakery and nothing for sale came too cheaply, except maybe the sugar cookies or the penny candy, which mostly sold to kids who came in after school or on Saturday to spend a part of their allowance on something they werent given at home. The name of the woman in the picture is Vera Jones, and this was her place at the time. She started it with her husband Lambert in 1942, which was a tough time to start a bakery. But people needed a reason to be happy sometimes, and sugary desserts were one good way, so they did all right for many years before they started doing very well; A piece of fluffy divinity or fudge, a chewy caramel, or a hunk of pulled taffy. They made

everything and it was better than any place that was just a candy shop. Vera and Lambert kept a schedule of their desserts, which were different every day of the week. They printed the items and the time they planned to make it or bake it. If devils food cake was your passion, you could come in on Thursdays at 4:00 and get a fresh piece. If you loved licorice or caramel corn they were ready at 12:00 and 2:00 respectively on Fridays. Lambert loved the spice cake with marzipan coating, one of Veras specialties, and she made a fresh sheet every Wednesday at 9:00am. In this picture, behind her you can see the customer counter where people wait smiling, to order their favorites. Everyone is laughing because the quantity of goodies on display is more than they have ever seen in one place, and this must excite them. An older woman with big curls and a heavy jacket, has a mouth that looks like an O. The man next to her in the hat looks serious, trying to see over Veras shoulder. Customers stand two and three deep next to a huge cash register that Lambert had purchased the year they opened the place. Next to that is a newer register that Vera was trying to get used to, but she hadnt given up the old one. At the other end of the counter is a scale big enough to hold a baby, used for weighing the candies and sometimes the ingredients for something in the kitchen. The building sits on a corner, and on the right side theres a rack of cotton candy that looks like a cartoon tree. Cotton candy was fresh yesterday, but most kids dont mind. Outside the window along the sidewalk theres a line of kids with their faces pressed to the window. They use their hands to create blinders for the glare so they can see inside.

Because of this its difficult to see their faces. Because of this you didnt notice one particular kid at first. In fact this picture was hanging in your kitchen for weeks before your eyes fell on a familiar looking well-worn dress. It is impossible to see her face, and shes wearing shoes in this picture, her hair is the exact same style, just not in such disarray. There, peering in the sweet shop window longingly is someone who looks amazingly like the little girl from the studio who never speaks to youYou almost dropped your coffee. You sat down, and after a moment, slowly peered over your shoulder out the window behind you expecting to see her there.

Chapter 20
The best part of us is not what we see, its what we feel. We are what we feel. We are not what we look at. Were not our eyeballs, were our mind. People believe their eyeballs and theyre totally wrong. Thats why I consider most photographs boring. But the whole arena of ones experience- grief, loneliness- how do you photograph lust? I mean, how do you deal with these things? This is what you are, not what you see. Its all sitting up here. I could do all my work sitting in my room. I dont have to go anywhere. -Duane Michaels

Vanishing River was founded October 14, 1849, officially. The hotel had opened up exactly one year later. To celebrate, every year, the hotel holds a gala event in honor of the founding of the town. There is always a period-dress theme and many people come not only dressed up but in character; there are usually a handful of Jorge Svensons and a few Blackbarts. Partygoers eat hors de oeuvres off silver platters and sip Moonshine Mixers, a concoction made of a gin, rum, and sweet limeade.

The party was to be the hotels 150th celebration of the kind. There were five years between 1903 and 1908 when the revelry was cancelled due to the prominence of an infamously belligerent club called E Clampus Vitus, or The Clampers as they were known. It started as a social club for men, essentially for drinking, and quickly became an unruly gang. Any party in the vicinity that bettered their own was to be crashed and livened-up, or ruined depending on what the Clampers were in the mood for that night. Bodey asked Mira to go with him to the party. I already have a date. Her stomach fluttered at her own words. But Ill save you a dance, if I see you, she offered. There is dancing, right? Bodey had probably expected her refusal. Yeah. Thats a big part of it, he said. But, I dont get into that stuff. How do people usually get their costumes? You can rent em. Couple different places. Your date didnt tell you any of this? My date? Well, he doesnt really know either. She could feel him staring at her neck. Who is it? My date?Alfonso Caton. Mira felt flush with her lie. Oh yeah, that guy. He an Indian, right? No. No? Looks like one.

Really? Hes a biologist. Works on one of the ranches near here. A lot of girls like him, huh? They do? What girls? I dont know, Bodey answered. Just seems like they do.

The nights were arriving more quickly now than when Mira first came to town. A three-quarters moon hovered in the tree branches when she got to Alfonsos. He was just getting home and put his keys and toolbox down when he saw her. He surprised her with a long hug, rocking her side to side, chuckling or talking or perhaps humming, as he sometimes did. His arms werent bulky, but they gave her the sense of being engulfed. She closed her eyes. Thank God. Her chest felt so open the air rushed in and flooded her brain in oxygen. When he let her go she hoped her hair had smelled good because that was always something she noticed when she hugged other people. Would you like coming in? he asked. She held her sweater cuffs in her fists. Her cheeks were pink with the cold. Oh sure, real quick. Im sure youve had a long day. She followed him inside and watched him go through his routine, unselfconscious of her presence. First he placed his hat on the rack by the door. Then he put his keys next to his answering machine and checked it for messages, of which there were none. He emptied his pockets into a dish; And finally sat down to take his boots off.

Would you like anything to drink? he asked casually, as if she were staying. Not curious why Im here? No thanks, I have to get back soon How are you? How was your day? Fine. Fine. He exhaled and leaned back in his sofa, seeming to relish her presence. He seemed at ease, which pleased her, but called her attention to the fact that she her self- was not at ease. I do have a question. She sat up stiffly in the rocker across from him, her fingers laced together in her lap. He looked at her expectantly, matching her expression. Theres a big bash every year at the hotel. She waved her hands in front of her face. Have you heard about it? Its like a costume party. Yes, I think so. A historical theme, right? To look like the old days? He was doing something with his hands as he spoke but her eyes were petrified in their sockets. So youve been? To it before? He shook his head. She couldnt read his interest, but having already announced to Bodey that Alfonso was her date, so she had to at least try to make it real.Would you like to? Alfonso didnt remove his gaze but said nothing, like a DVD on pause. With me? she added to fill the silence and smiled as if she were joking. My treat of course the tickets and what-not since Im the one asking you, or whatever.

His pleasant, at-ease smile faded into a poker face. He looked down at his hands, chafed from repairing fence posts all day. May I respond later? With a sudden lack of air, Mira managed to respond cheerfully. Of course! Im sorry, he offered, I just need to check my calendar. She felt it would somehow look natural to stand up and leave immediately. No biggie. Her brain had little idea of what her body was doing. I just thought it sounded fun and you might want to go. This is how men feel all the time when they ask women outonly worse because some women think they have to be cruel in order to say no. Alfonso stood up just as suddenly. Ill get back to you, he told her, reaching out to grasp the back of her upper arm, but missing. What was that hug? I ruined the hug. I assumed. Wrong, wrong, wrong again! All the way home, the only thing Mira could think of was that it was happening to her again. She was good enough to be his friend, but nothing else. She never seemed to know how anyone felt about her. She was always reading people wrong, especially the ones she liked. She was clueless to the mysterious reasons why any man ever chooses any woman. She desperately wished she had the ability to read the thoughts of men and avoid this heartache and humiliation. She also wanted to avoid putting people she liked in the awkward position of having to reject her. Hes out of my league. I knew that going in. But what the fuck. What is my league? How do I know what league Im in? I can tell what league other people are in, I just cant tell what league Im in. I need someone to tell me.

They need to be brutally honest. Its just a dance! she said out loud. From one to ten. What am I? A five? Less? A four? No, Im at least a five, maybe a six. Nope, probably a four and I just cant see it. Tears collected in her eyes. What is he then? A seven? An eight? Hes probably considered an eight. Why would an eight go to a party with a four? Mira shook her head as she pulled the truck into her parking area. Her neck and armpits were sticky. She stepped into the cold breeze that tossed newly fallen leaves against her pant leg. Red wine and sorrow, she moaned as she walked to her door, disgusted with herself for having expected any outcome other than this one. Big Lou would tell me what number I am. God that would be awkward. Behind her, Alfonsos truck crunched over the gravel. He seemed to be going fast. Hearing someone there, she quickly tried to smear away her tears with the back of her hand. He practically yelled across the yard, Im sorry!You dont have a phone in the house and I wanted to thank you for inviting me and I would like to accept. She detected a subtle note of supplication and it her uncomfortable. He pities me! Gross! I thought maybe I had other another engagement that night, he continued. I cant not think of a way I would rather spend the evening...Really Mira, I cant imagine not going with you. Cant not? Cant imagine not? Language barrier or Freudian slip? Double-

negatives equal positives. She barely heard what he said. She was looking off toward the meadow. Are you sure? I feel a little silly And whatever, you shouldnt feel obligated or anything. Nooo, he said, drawing the word out too much. His voice was soft. Please dont feel that way. She didnt move as he touched the hem of her shirt like he was testing the quality of the fabric. She looked down at his hand but couldnt figure out a way to touch him back. She swayed in, almost imperceptibly closer to him. I liked our hug, he confessed looking down at his hand. Her body went through waves of warmth. This is nice, he said as he examined one of the carved buttons on her shirt. Is it wood? She looked down too. Its a nut, I think. Her voice was soft too. They were standing too close to be loud. A nut? He looked closer. What type? Dont remember the name. From Brazil or somewhere. South America somewhere. A rainforest nut. He slipped his finger into the lowest gap in the front of her shirt, just above one of the nut buttons. His first knuckle grazed the skin above her navel. He ran the back of his finger up the length of the shirts gap to the next button, exhaling at the stop,

and then he stroked it back down again before pulling it out of her shirt. She drew in a long breath as he did this. The air tasted like candy; She almost felt faint. Too much honey and not enough air. This was all; He left, but the warm mark on her belly stayed, drawn deep like a tattoo.

In the outdoor tub with water hot enough to sting the pits of her pores, she several times touched the spot on her stomach with her own knuckle to see how it had felt to him; to make sure over and over that it had been silky, and that it had been warm; She stroked it herself to wonder what he had thought of when he touched her. A crow sat atop the wall for a while, watching her soak; its silhouette outlined by the moon coming from the other side of the sky. As she washed her hair, the breeze was sharp on her scalp. The bird eyed her glass of wine. Recalling stories Big Lou had told her, she thought about the crow being a man in a birds body and checked her self to make sure he couldnt see her naked foot. The night air carried hints of the first hearth fires of the season and she allowed the smell to permeate her, smoking out memories of winter back home. She raised her glass for a sip and toasted to the crow. He paced along the wall, lifting each foot and placing it carefully in front of the other like a clown. Before getting out of the tub she waited for the bird to loose interest and fly away.

Later, in bed she lay imagining what it would be like to kiss Alfonso. She desperately wanted to know how his lips would feel against hers. Would there be a lot of pressure? Would they be soft? Would his chin be rough? Would the tips of their tongues touch? Would his tongue be smooth and slippery? What would his neck taste like? Would he kiss her like it was something he had to do? When the moment finally came would he lunge toward her and hold her face roughly in his hands? When he tasted her lips would he be unable to withhold his passion? She enjoyed this game of trying to conjure up details until they seemed almost real. When playing this game, one imagined detail always inspired another. Closing her eyes in the dark, he could have been lying next to her, and she wanted to pretend it was real. Were both tangled in the sheets, unsure if we are awake or sleeping. My feet are nowhere, they dont exist, but my shoulders glow in the moonlight. Clothes are bunched around our feet. Its not clear whose clothes are whose. I can feel the prickly hairs on his jaw, the moistness at the edge of his bottom lip, his breath: warm mint. My arms are around his shoulders, his hands on my waist, then on my back. His hands are rough. I languish in their forwardness. Mira isnt afraid of what will happen next. Shes completely calm and vulnerable. He begins to put more weight on me. Our bodies become locked together, as we both strain to follow the instinct to move in rhythm. She imagined him feeling desperate to be there with her. By the strength in his shoulders she could tell that he had been hoping for this as much, if not more than she, and could taste his fervor. His insistence was thrilling and after a few moments this way a feeling in her came sharp

and sweet, lingering in waves like a dark rainbow over a deep, warm waterfall.

She woke up the next morning feeling like she had soaked in him all night, her body spongy with his essence. Her pores breathed some indelible lust, stained by his image, the scent of which was pungent like fruit too ripe to eat. In the mirror, her mouth was red and swollen.

Chapter 21
I dislike landscapes. I only like people, and plastic flowers. -Elliott Erwitt

The same day as Jim Tabneys memorial service, the police moved Big Lou to a larger jail in San Andreas, thirty-five miles away. The facility in Vanishing River could not handle the number of press and visitors descending on it daily. Mira went to visit him. On the way out, the streets were alight with cars for the Tabney memorial. His body however, could not be part of the service. There were flower arrangements on some of them and the cars with antennas trailed a piece of black ribbon. Using several maps from Franks den Mira decided to take Sheep Ranch Road out to Mountain Ranch Road to get to Highway 49. This was the most direct route, and she took it even though Lloyd recommended Highway 4. Highway 49 turned out to be a beautiful path, relatively straight with hills on either side high enough to give her the feeling of driving through a light green valley, but low enough that she could always see blue sky and clouds. Blue Dicks and Indian Pink were in bloom. Cow Parsip and milkweed grew around the bases of fence posts built to hold in cattle that were nowhere Mira could see. The oak trees hung onto most of their leaves, and the soft scent of Tarweed was on the breeze. Half-way to San Andreas, Franks truck began to sputter. Mira drove until there

was no power going from the accelerator to the engine. Perplexed, she coasted off the road and into a swale. She hopped out among the Cottonwood trees and sedge grass. It was still morning and she could hear frogs in the thicket. No hot steam rose from under the trucks hood, no mysterious liquid dripped to the ground. Dry, and cool to the touch, the truck looked resigned to its inertia. She struggled to lift the hood in the first place, twice nearly lopping off her fingers in an effort. Opening the hood served no advantage except to alert passersby that she was in trouble. The issue with this strategy however, was that there were, so far, no passersby. She dragged her backpack from inside the truck cab. Of course the cell phone service was non-existent, but she hoped a little walk down the road or up the hill would yield some results. About a mile up there were still no service providers, but she was passed by three cars with black ribbons flapping on the breeze, all headed toward Vanishing River. None of them stopped. To them she must have looked like a woman out for a walk. And anyway, they were late to the service. Remembering certain regrettable incidents, Mira reasoned that climbing a barbedwire fence to venture up hill was not a worthy risk. She sat at the edge of the road next to her truck and ate the grossest sandwich she had ever made, and sipped from her warm bottle of water. Someone was bound to drive by soon, and they would instantly diagnose her truck problem, help her fix it, and she would get to the jail by early evening. Its

probably a bad spark plug. What does a spark plug do? God Im a n idiot. After almost an hour, there hadnt been a single car. Mira dragged out her field camera and set it up for a shot of the sun glowing through a Black fruit Dogwood on the other side of the road. She focused her lens on a field of Bleeding Hearts in bloom right next to a patch of poison oak. She took her time and the shots were a few of the best she had taken since coming to Vanishing River. When first stranded, Mira was apprehensive about accepting help from a stranger. After six hours by the side of the road, she was desperate for any aid at all. There was a deck of cards in the glove box which helped the next two lonely hours pass. This was the most alone she had felt since coming to Vanishing River, and yet for some reason she was not in a hurry to return to what little civilization she had. There was a blanket rolled up behind the seat that she could sleep under if it came to that. She had enough water to make due for another day at least, and under the drivers seat was a flashlight big enough to double as a weapon. And so, she sat playing solitaire until there was barely enough light to make out the worn faces on the cards. The Evening Primrose began to open and the dark blue of the fading evening was reading more like black- when a bright yellow utility truck slowed to a stop on the road in front of her. A young man stepped out of the cab. His head was a shaved and there were rolls of hanging flesh encircling his neck. Mira ran to him like an old friend. You broke down? he asked.

Im not sure what happened to my truck. It just stopped. I dont see anything wrong with it. Pulling a flashlight from his tool belt he shined a beam under Miras hood. She breathed into her hands. She had great hopes for this young mans power of observation. He twisted his wide face trying to squeeze out a diagnoses. Is it a spark plug? Were you able to start it when you left? he asked. Well, yeah. Of course. Aint a spark plug then. Mira twisted her face. I dont know what May I? he put out his hand for the key. Miras stomach rolled. What would he do to her if she gave him the key? She stalled momentarily but couldnt think of anything he could do with the key that he couldnt do without it. She handed it to him. He got in and tried starting the engine. It turned over, then immediately sputtered and died. He did this twice before giving up. Its getting dark out here, lady. Nothings going to happen with this truck tonight. Mira sighed. Thanks anyway. Thanks for well, at least you tried. Youre not planning to sit out here all night.

Well, I guess I was just thinking I would Nah. I cant leave you out here alone. When he offered to take her the rest of the way to San Andreas, where he was going, she happily climbed aboard. His name was Paul and his work truck was as neat as if hed had it detailed that morning. He was an electrician for a company called Lightning Electric Repairs whose slogan was printed under the name: Fastest Fixes in Calaveras County. Mira attempted small talk, but young Paul was mostly interested in singing along to his country music. His voice was decent. She wondered if he had ever gone to Kareoke Night at Petes. He left her at the nearest gas station with a handshake she had insisted on. She called Tark to find out if he could fix her car, and he offered to come and get her. It took him an hour to get there. He pulled up to the pay phone where Mira stood shivering. Was it hard to find me? He shook his head. Sounds like you need a new alternator. Easy to fix. Really? Can you do it? Or should I get it towed? I can fix it, but not tonight. Well, of course not. She struggled to put her seatbelt on. Im just glad you could come and get me. Thank you so much. I owe you No one drove by me today. I couldnt believe it! You shouldve taken Highway 4. Mountain Ranch is deserted.

Thats what Lloyd tried to tell me. You shouldve listened. He knows this area. Mira put her hands over the two frozen wedges on the sides of her head. Listen, Tark told her, My cousin lives here in San Andreas and he can get us the part. We go to his house, say our hellos, then were on our way. What do you think? Youre the best.

Tarks cousin, affectionately referred to as Beef by his friends, waited for them at his apartment. There was one black vinyl couch that the boys let Mira sit on alone while they stood in the efficiency-kitchen smoking pot through an ornate two-foot glass bong, and then exhaling into the fan over the stove. To Mira, the bong looked like the most expensive ware in the apartment. She finally agreed to a hit and promptly fell asleep with Beefs sweatshirt over her shoulders. When she woke up Tark and Beef were deep in debate about alien conspiracies. Get me out of here. I know about a place here, man, Beef claimed. Nobody but me knows about it. Mira rolled her eyes. She was hungry and achy and sleepy and she never got to see Big Lou. Tark sat down next to her. Hey, Mira. My cousin wants to know if you can pay him for that part the alternator. He has a guy he buys this stuff from you know, just to pay that guy.

Sure. How much? How much, dude? Fifty? Thats fine, she then whispered to Tark, Can we just get it and go? Im sorry. I know this is annoying. Ill get us out of here. Maybe I should drive, she offered, not sure of how much pot he had smoked while she was asleep. See, but he wants to take us to this site. Mira closed her eyes. Please. Do we have to? When she looked up again, Beef was standing in front of her. Im telling you dude, in my next life I want to come back as an alien. Mira handed him forty five dollars she had with her and climbed behind the wheel of Tarks truck for a sojourn to a supposed UFO crash site somewhere in the woods. Beef rattled on the whole way. Theyre attracted to the geology of the San Andreas Fault here. Studying it from what we know. He insisted on picking up food at the by-theslice pizzeria on the way out of town. A place filled with high school kids huddling in textmessaging clumps, on phones that miraculously worked. Now that must alien technology. The crash site turned out to be a divot between two clusters of cedars on the ridge above town. Beef held his ground. I had one of those lights they use for forensics once, the kind for finding biological material. He had his hands on his hips with his feet out

wider than his shoulders. Ground here glows under the lights. No shit? Tark asked, kicking at the dirt. How the hell did you get one of those things? I got friends in the force, Beef claimed, with a snort. A snort! Bullshit, Tark said. You were tripping! Fuck no! Beef retorted. Somebody probably tried to bury a body here. Mira said it as if she was saying Pass the salt. Beef startled at her comment. Dude we got to jam. You dont believe me, dude? I believe you cuz. But, yo Miras beat. We got to get that part and get out of here. Its gonna take us at least an hour to get back to V-Riv. They drove the route to where her truck was parked to make sure it was secure for the night. There were now two trucks parked there in the dark and a man got out of one and squinted into Tarks oncoming headlights. Alfonso Caton, he said. Oh god, Mira gasped. He came looking for me? and instantly her heart rate doubled. Her hand went from clutching her mouth to clutching her heart. Alfonso and Tark shook hands in the dark. I was going by here and I saw your truck. I just, I just thought it best to wait for

you, or I guess I was worried. Mira was sweating in the cold of the night. Have you been waiting all night? Alfonso shrugged. A person cannot just abandon a vehicle Mira flushed. Big Lou wasnt sent, anyway, Alfonso continued. What? Willy gave himself over. It was his gun. They released Big Lou this morning. Both Mira and Tark stood silent. Released? Mira repeated. They are both released of their own recogni recognition. Recognizance. Wow. I knew he couldnt have shot that guy! I just knew he couldnt have. It was Willy? That makes more sense, but Im still confused.... I dont have any details, Alfonso shrugged again, then offered Mira an awkward hug before climbing into his truck.

Chapter 22
We see great things in our lives and then we die. All thats left of us are images in

pictures of what weve seen. -Tony Spielmaker

Her next customer was on his way. Normally Mira wouldnt be so eager to have a Labrador sit for her, but since she was still getting used to the stereoscopic camera, she figured a dog might make a good test subject. No humans were harmed in the testing of this camera. Ever since Jeremy Bafflehaus showed up at the studio with an axe, being there alone still unnerved Mira. Haley and Clement were both in school, so she really had no one to invite who would be willing to idle away a morning watching her work. She ended up going alone and set up as quickly as possible. Mr. Gruffy, and his elderly Lab arrived precisely on time. He was a winemaker with a small cellar in the hills on the outskirts of the outskirts. He wanted portraits of his blonde Jenny, so hed have a way to remember her as she is, when she is no longer. Ninety-nine in dog years, Jennys body had stiffened with arthritis and her coat no longer gleamed. Her walks with her master had been getting shorter and her eyes looked cloudy most days. Jenny seemed to worry a lot too, and this made Mr. Gruffy worry that the end was near. The old man was reflective. People who like to stuff their dogs? I think thats loony. Who wants to look at their best friend, tanned, stuffed, mounted on a platform. Glass eyes staring at you day and night

Mira clicked away as he talked. No, he went on. I think when her time comes she ought to be able to rest in peace, just like the rest of us. Mira took a series of photographs that day; Jenny sitting on the stairs in front of the house, Jenny jaunting across the yard behind the studio, Jenny lying on one of the soft couches in the living room. The old girl had an instinct to avoid the camera and it made for a lot of action shots and profiles. When the dog limped over to her owners feet to lie down, Mr. Gruffy decided it was time to go home. May I take a couple shots of you with her? Mira charmed. He gave her a dismissive look. Oh, no, these are just of Jenny. Thats all I want. Mira let him think what he wanted, but said, Some pictures of you two together may end up being the ones you cherish most. Oh, no one wants to sit and look at me. I never been photogenic, and even less so the older I get, he was putting the leash on the dog. She continued taking pictures as he did. But, maybe your family will. She took several portraits of him with his Jenny lying on the rug in front of him as he scratched behind her leathered ears. (The following day, reviewing a book of proofs for Mr. Gruffy, Mira was edified that those easy snaps were the best shed taken all afternoon.) When it was all done, Mira and Mr. Gruffy shook hands and waved goodbye on the sidewalk in front of the studio. While watching her client leave, Mira noticed the

familiar little girl in the gingham dress skipping down the sidewalk toward the house. Though Mr. Gruffy didnt seem to notice the girl flit past, the old blind dog wagged her tail, hoping for a pat.

Later that afternoon, Mira went in search of an outfit for the party happening the day after next. She had a list of rental shops the hotel had given her when she bought tickets for the event. She went to the first one on the list, which happened to be the gift shop where she purchased George. Above the shop was an unsettling attic with a low slanted ceiling, no windows, and a rack of dresses in front of a mirror that stood among many boxes of overstock inventory for the store below. Mira was not claustrophobic but after leafing through the rack once, she was anxious to leave. Out loud, she determined that nothing was her style, thanked the girl who had led her up there, and left. Next address on the list was the back room at the hair solon. The air wreaked of perming solution so much that it made her eyes burn. The ladies working there explained that the dresses were usually stored in the closet, but at this time of year they moved them out to the break room. They were cheap looking reproductions of old-timey western movie costumes in colors and fabrics that never would have existed in the 1850s. The worst of the bunch was constructed of stretchy nylon in shiny electric blue, and embellished with stark white lace and plastic buttons. Some of the dresses were in her size, but she couldnt imagine herself wearing any of them except as a joke.

People really dress up for this party? she said to one of the hairdressers. The woman was wearing a bronze metallic sweater. Thats why people go, honey! How bout this one? accused the other woman. She had gravity-defying spraypuffed hair, and drawn-in eyebrows of cartoon evil. Her low-cut tank-top laced up the back, on which she had so many moles that Mira had to resist the urge to play connect-thedots when she stood behind her. The woman was holding out the companion to the metallic-blue monstrosity, in its metallic-pink incarnation. Mmm. Im not sure its my size. Not your size? spoke the evil clown, If this aint your size- I dont know what is! Its just not me, I guess Mira tried again, desperately searching for a way out of the shop. The woman may have looked ridiculous, but she was no fool. Well, you can look somewhere else but yaint gonna to find anything better nthis. Plus thesell be gone soon. Go head an try though. Youre welcome to it. Mira decided that if this was the best she can do, she wouldnt be going to the party in costume.

Desperate, Mira skipped ahead to the last establishment listed on the flier. The name

there was Consuela Pedrone, and it listed a phone number rather than an address. Hello? said a grandmotherly voice on the other end. Hello? Ms. Pedrone? Mira asked. Yes, Pedrone`. Who is this, please? Um, Mira Dillen. I saw your name on a brochure I have for dress rentals for the celebration at the hotel? The silence indicated the womans surprise at this phone call. Am I still on that list? Um. I have it right hereDo you stillrent dresses? Yes, but they are not look-alikes, my dear. Theyre the real thing. Really? Mira was encouraged by this news. Are they that old? The woman laughed a little. Well, the fabric designs are that old, and the patterns are that old, but the dresses I rent were made in the 70s when some gals and I started our own business. These dresses are as close to the real thing as youll get without grabbing them off the mannequins in a museum. Consuela laughed hoarsely. Mira arrived at the old womans house shortly after they hung up their phones. Nobodys called for one these for years and years. I cant believe how time goes by. They have an old saying, Mira offered. First things first, last things last. Hours pass slowly. Years pass fast.

I like that and I think its true. What is your name again? Mira, she said, and helped the woman with her own door. Consuela shook her hand gently. Oh I recognize you. You judged the church pageant. The house was spacious and refined, like a museum- closed to the public. The fragile woman led Mira down a hallway, carpeted olive green, to a room at the end, which unlike the others they passed was filled with light. Mira wondered if the woman had opened the blinds for her sake. So, you were at the pageant? Its one of the only fun things that church does. Plus I like the idea of a beauty contest. Anyway, the truth about these dresses is that no one has expressed an interest in any of them for quite a long time. Ive even considered getting rid of them, but I guess they arent taking up much space, and theyre nice to look at. Dont you think? I like to come in here every now and again and take them out. Feel the fabrics. Arent they lovely? Several grand gowns were displayed on dress-makers dummies in the corner of the room. There was a beautiful moss green velvet divan next to an Edwardian dresser with a mirror top. Consuela had vintage shoes displayed on shelves that hung opposite the windows. Each pair looked surprisingly small. We have replicas of these, in modern sizes, she said, pointing out several ankle boots with heals and eyelets so they could be laced all the way up. People were tiny back then, compared to us today. What is your size, young lady?

A not-so-tiny ten. Consuela went to the closet and reached for the hangers of several dresses. I used to be able to bring these out just fine, she said struggling; Her hunched shoulders barely allowing her to touch the hangers. I used to look like you, dear. Almost as tall. Mira went over to help her. The dresses were heavy, and resplendent. These are beautiful. Why dont you get any calls to rent them? People forgot about me I guess, she peeped and made a face like a mouse. She was taking the dresses in Miras size out of their plastic coverings. Im sure they didnt forget about you. Maybe its because youre not the first one on the list. The old woman smiled. Im fibbing. The real reason is because I dont rent quite as cheap as those other places do, and people around here know it and they dont like that these days, even if they would be getting quality for a change. And they would look beautiful. Thats the point of dressing up, isnt it? Mira was hesitant to put on a dress. Oh What are your rates? I dont want to fall in love with one of these and then not be able to afford it. Oh dont worry. I like you. What is your profession, my dear? Consuela asked as she unbuttoned the bodices of several dresses using fingers stiff with arthritis. I dont make much money, if thats what you mean. Im here, well I came here to work with Frank Bafflehaus, the photographer

Consuela interrupted, I knew Frank. Now I see why they wanted you to judge the pageant. Youre almost like a celebrity around here. Mira was sheepish. They only asked me to photograph it, but needed a judge right at the last minute But Im still here just to get Franks work in order for donation to the museum I work for in New York. Im also thinking lately of putting together a monograph. I could write the introduction, or whatever. Oh, isnt it sad what happened to him? Now his poor old daughter is all on her own. Mira absently agreed, Yeah. Her attention had drifted to a caramel-colored dress with a fitted waist and full skirt, a soft flounce in back, and a matching jacket with a high collar. Consuela went on, I knew Frank quite well for a time. Dont worry Ill give you a good price. Thats kind of you. Should I change right here? Consuela nodded, but didnt leave the room. I have to help you get into them. They can be very fragile. Thats something you should know. Mira stepped out of her jeans. You knew Frank? Yes, I did, very well in the early years here. What was he like? You didnt meet him at all?

No, he died right before I got here; On my way actually. Shame, Consuela lamented. Mira stepped into the dress she had been eyeing. But Im sort of getting to know him through all his work, you know? I just wonder what he was really like. Well, first of all he liked to be called Francis- unless you preferred sir or Mr. Bafflehaus. Other than that, his personality depended on the day you caught him, my dear. He could be a tyrant or a Romeo. Thats what they call him, Im sure you know. The tyrant maestro of photography. Oh, my darling he was one of a kind in the truest sense. A good man, but his life was difficult from the time Ruthy was born. After Aida left, you could see his world crumbling. I didnt see him as much after that, until very recently. Oh? So you saw him not too long ago? We had dinner ever once in a while He never got over Aida, though. Whyd she leave him? Consuela helped Mira with the jacket and then minced across the room to a chest of drawers filled with hat boxes and shoes. Mira caught sight of her own reflection in the window, and her stomach fluttered. Consuela hadnt looked up at Mira in the dress, yet. I think it was because she lost a baby, though he never spoke of it. We all knew of course. This towns too small. It was a

real tragedy. Real real sad. Conseula sat next to Mira on the divan so she could fit her with the hat. Was she too bereft to stay with Francis? The truth was, she never did like it here. She loved Paris. Consuela twinkled her fingers next to her eyes. Shed been a Vogue model; Very beautiful. Anyway, she was in love with Paris and I think thats where she went off to. Paris? Consuela directed Mira to the mirror, then stood next to her. Aaahhh, the old woman sighed with pleasure. Your search is over, my dear. You look a fantasy. More beautiful then when you came in, I must say. Some people might have been insulted by that comment, but not Mira. She could see that it was true. As much as she didnt want to admit it, clothes did make a difference and there was something magical about the dress she had on. After spending a while finding the right shoes (a pair of ivory colored boots with low heels and decorative leatherwork in front and laces up the back,) Mira put on the clothes she came in and went back to being her plain old self. Youre only renting the dress, Consuela said to Mira. But youll always have the pictures to remind you.

The next day, in the late afternoon, Mira escaped the confines of Franks den, (May

I call you Frank?) where she had been focused on several sets of contact sheets with comments scribbled on their paper backing. The handwriting was not Franks, but likely that of his well-known contemporary, Robert Frank. Mira was aware that these notes would add great value and interest to the Bafflehaus collection. The proof sheet started out with portraits of Robert Frank, seated, leaning toward a table of prints. It ended with a series of a nude female model crouching on a rock somewhere around the Bafflehaus property. The girls skin was unbearably pale. Robert Frank had been a frequent guest at the Bafflehaus ranch in the early 70s. His appetite for the country life somewhat satisfied by his time spent rambling here. Nice light in these, he had scrawled. Circled the best. Send me copies of both. Mine wont come near. Can almost see through this girls skin!

Wanting a new place to walk, Mira drove out to where she and Alfonso had gone fishing, but this time hoping to linger in the place where the river disappeared. She remembered their conversation that day in the truck on the way home and wanted to know if he would go with her to see where the river sprang up at the bottom of the hill. Those trails arent marked, he had warned her. It would take a lot longer to hike down and back up again than it looks. This is more like a mountain than a hill. I dont think we could find the springs anyway. They are not mapped and they change constantly. I would rather just stay up here for the fishing.

Alone, Mira listened to the trickle of water in the cracks of the river rock. This area had been well-worn by tourists since it was featured in a Natural Mysteries tour book popular in the 1960s. Apparently there were still some copies in circulation. A few yards away, in the path where the river would have continued, was a grove of White Alder, under which the grass was not broken. She wandered into its shade and pulled the cuffs of her sweater over her hands for warmth. Wading in the last swath of river, Mira looked down at the bright sun swirling through the current around her toes, intermittently it caused the illusion of a whole foot. Whenever it happened she would snap a picture, hoping one would be good enough to put up on the wall. She bent down to taste the water, which was slightly fishy. A few smooth pebbles caught her attention and she put them in her pocket. Now her feet were too cold to keep standing in the water. She wanted her shoes back on and imagined that she could take her illusory toes out of the water with her and capture them inside her socks until they stuck there permanently. Following her instinct for where the river might resume she took a meandering path out of the trees and down a rocky hillside. Occasionally hearing the sound of gurgling behind a wall of rock inspired her to continue her search. For a long while that sound was as close as she got to the water whose re-emergence eluded her. She scraped her ankle in a successful attempt to avoid twisting it as she climbed down angular boulders into a valley where the water should have sprung and satisfied her

curiosity. All she wanted was to see it bubbling up from the ground, crystalline and affirming. The whole arduous distance, she had been dreaming of that moment and trying to keep track of the path back to her truck. Alfonso had been right; There were no trails down in the valley where the grasses were so long they rippled like water in the breeze. She lost about half an hour when she almost walked right into a wriggling patch of ladybugs, twelve foot square. At first she didnt know what the hell she was even looking at and thought it might be some kind of wobbling red carpet. She probably would have been turned off had it been anything other than ladybugs, or maybe butterflies, which she had been conditioned to think of as pleasant, harmless creatures. Their glistening shells en masse, flowed electric on the surface of rocks and weeds. They were mesmerizing and like nothing she would ever see again. She used up almost all her film right then and there. In general, it was a spectacular view in the fading evening light. She resolved to return for more photographs of this spot, imagining the Quest for the Spring as a series of prints. Wide shots inset by details; Very modern. She walked past a cave on the way down and heard the sound of water droplets falling into a pool. Having no flashlight kept her out of the cave, but she imagined the water being warm and the way it would stream over her face and down her back, around her claves and into her shoes. The thought of it was so comforting. She resolved that she would stand in that water when she came back. An hour or so later, she still had not located any of the springs that recomposed the

spirited river running somewhere above her. Every time she sensed the water and went toward it, the further away it sounded. The losing stream, she said to herself, will be found. But it wasnt found, and she was getting tired and losing daylight for her trek if she didnt turn back immediately. Tripping over branches that appeared farther away in the twilight was only the beginning of the obstacles she faced. Climbing boulders was difficult, and even frightening as one of them shifted under her and nearly came down. The result was a bruise on her back like a plum as she fell away to let the rock miss her. Finally after the harrowing climb up the hillside she was rewarded with another valley that bore no resemblance to anywhere shed been that day. These boulders are supposed to lead me to the trailhead, which will bring me back to my truck! But there was no trail, no trailhead, no truck. There was only Alfonsos warning echoing in Miras ears.

Chapter 23
Through being quiet and willing to wait, I can begin to see the inner man and the essence of the subject in front of me. Watching the way the current moves a blade of grasssometimes Ive seen that happen and it has just turned me inside out. Minor White

Her sweater wasnt warm enough to protect her from the drop in temperature outside at night. She tried stuffing dry leaves and pine needles into her sweater. I think this is what the homeless do during New York winters. But, then she thought maybe shed done it wrong because it didnt make her feel warmer, just extremely itchy. She took most of the leaves out before the warming could even take effect. As she walked, panic rose and settled in her chest as her visibility shrunk to the distance of whatever tree was nearest at that moment. Squatting down to think, she wrapped her arms around herself as the humidity of

the day cooled into a disconcerting dampness that rose from the grass and climbed around her knees. She tried to remember anything she had ever learned about being out in the woods, or in this case a meadow, supposedly. Supposedly because she could no longer see it; the space had no edges. Lost, by the way, was not a word she was ready to admit to. Moss always grows on the north side of a trunk, she recalled reading in a wilderness story for kids, however the accuracy of her memory was strongly in doubt, along with all her mental capacities. I think there was more to it than just the moss. Finding her way to a tree trunk she noted that the moss was on all sides. There is a way to do it using the North Star- but god knows which one it is- I think that only applies if youre lost at sea. Knowing what is north wont help me anyway, since I have no fucking clue what direction I came from. Sick fear percolated through her system and began leaking a stink from her pores. She decided to continue walking in her original direction. Trust your gut, but she was long past losing track of what direction she started in. Hours later, her legs and feet ached like throbbing stumps, her scratched ankle burned, and still nothing and everything looked familiar. She crumpled at the base of a tall cottonwood. Her tears consisted only of moist salt that seared her eye sockets. It had been roughly seven hours since she felt safe and there was no White Alder stand, no parking lot anywhere nearby, no river. Everything around her looked like stripes of black and gray. The sky would be a true blackout except for the specks of stars glimmering through dilating gaps in the clouds. For a while, the bright edges of the clouds

moving past the moon gave her something to focus in the dark. Every now and then a twig snapped somewhere in her vicinity, sending adrenaline into her shivering limbs. How did the Indians live outside all the time? They had tents or whatever, but still. I guess if they could do it their whole lives, I can make it through one night. Praying to herself for help, embarrassed and desperate, her wide eyes searched the darkness for anything familiar. Some kind of a beetle flew into her face at full speed, just as confused as she, and tried to hold on to her however it could which happened to be her eyebrow. Her attempts to flick it away were frantic, but ultimately successful. She was twice bitten by something so small that all she could feel was the stinging sensation it left with a welt. She feared that her screams at these unnerving intrusions would signal all local predators to her whereabouts. Pine martens and opossums moved above her in the trees and they startled her, but it was the fear of a mountain lion or a black bear that haunted her. In one delirious moment she was convinced she detected the silhouette of a coyote or a mountain lion. Or was it a black bear? Its moving there behind that other tree! This is it. This thing is going to kill me. Its going to eat me like it ate that dumbass in Alaska. Not having any idea what else to do, she remained perfectly still, crouched in a ball with her arms wrapped around her head. Please, God, please, God, Im sorry. Please, God save me out here. Please protect me. Please, please dont let him notice me. Please, please. She may have said please five hundred times. Mom, if you are watching over me, please lead me to safety.

A twig snapped right in front of her, jarring her from an unwilling doze. Her ears rang, listening for it again. It was a skunk who seemed just as surprised by her presence as she was by his, yet not surprised enough to spray her, thank god. She was encouraged by this kindness, and the fact that she wasnt eaten by whatever the bear-thing was. Somewhat refreshed by sleep, she rose to her feet and wandered some distance in search of a way out. Silence roared in the pitch darkness and she huddled again under a different tree. She had no idea which direction shed originally come and decided she was better off not walking any further until she could see where the hell she was going. Earlier in the day she would have considered this idea a defeat, but now it took more courage to stay where she was than to keep on moving. From her position under a sprawling buckeye, Mira fended off an animal that seemed to have emerged from the earth. Larger than a gopher or god-forbid a Norway rat, but this time smaller than a bear. The creature was roughly equivalent to her old roommate Lisas overweight tabby, and nightmarishly amorphous in the dark. Choked sounds of terror escaped Miras throat as she swung at the beast-thing with too-small a branch. The thing was shockingly insistent even after she managed to make contact with it via her boot. The animal wasnt daunted. Stop! Stop stop stop stop stop! Why wont you stop? Stop coming! at me!? I dont want to hurt you! Dont make me hurt you! Ill kill you. But, I will kill you! she pleaded. The animal could not see her and was desperate to escape her swinging club. It finally forced its way around her and the tree

trunk she was up against. Her eyes drooped to a close as the hours oozed by, yet the confirmed sighting of a porcupine edging along the tree line deterred sleep. Still she dreamed of one of the elusive fresh water springs, as the inside of her mouth grew sticky and her muscles mechanical. It seemed like her heart was barely able to whisp blood through her thin veins. She needed to remove herself mentally from this place, this situation. Alfonso would do- as he had many times under better circumstances. In tonights scenario Mira decided to be on her knees at the far corner of the bed, struggling to tuck the fitted sheet over the mattress, for some reason wearing only a short sundress. Wow, quite short. Too short. Much much too short. Alfonso stands behind her, for some reason without a shirt at all. Dont go anywhere, he whispers hoarsely. She abides and turns her head back to see him there, kneeling by the bed. His lips gently touching her calf and and slowly moving up the back of her thigh, pushing up the dress as he goes. Exciting as it was, these mental images actually calmed her. She hadnt thought of this scenario before, and with each of his illusory maneuvers she was caught pleasantly offguard. A subterranean breath released her fear of his attention, of this night, of all her perceived inadequacies. She licked her lips, but when her tongue stuck roughly to them she was reluctantly brought back to her very real state of destitution. She was so so thirsty. Concentrate, concentrate. Stay with it. Shocked by the sudden awareness that he can see more than just her underpants.

That his face is very close to those underpants. Dont take them off, she orders him in an exhale. Please, you cant. She does mean it in a way, but was holding at bay the knowledge that eventually he would succumb to the urge to take them off. You wont, she tells him, because you are too good. He is too good and she is convinced that nothing at all can ever make him bad; Except maybe the sight of her accidentally revealed nudity. Bad bad boy. Good boy. In this position, what choice has he got? Im not as good as you think I am, he whispers hoarsely. The underpants will have to go. Dear God, they must be removed no matter what happens afterward. And, by the time it is finally decided that he will overrule her ridiculous request, he must resist the urge to tear the underpants with both hands! He settles for their partial removal; and they cut in awkwardly behind her knees. Sleep thankfully overtakes her. Very real sleep. She slept for an indeterminate length of time and when her eyes opened it was to the sight of a forest transformed by the subtle glow of dawn. Anyone at home in bed would interpret it as total darkness, but to Mira, detecting even the most attenuated outline of a tree a hundred yards away was like receiving the miracle of sight itself. She had managed to avoid thinking too much about sleeping in her own bed, but now she was jealous of George, who had spent an entire peaceful night in her bed, alone. And he cant even appreciate it. Mira waited at the base of her mossy backrest, wondering what would happen if she couldnt find her way even in daylight. She stood a good chance of staying lost for a lot

longer, and without water maybe even ending up permanently lost, also called dead. Dogs will sniff me out when its too late. Dad will wish he sent me to outdoor camp. Maybe I shouldnt have quit the Girl Scouts on the first day. I would have stayed if it werent for that disgusting canned cheese-food one of the mothers brought for a snack. If not for squeeze cheese on Saltines, I might have survived this thing. Art will wish... well, hell just go to the funeral and compare notes on me with everyone else, that fucker. Morning light the color of a cold glass of ginger ale, was enough to get Mira to brush off the twigs stuck to her jeans, shake the bugs from her hair and assesses the woods around her. The tree she believed to be a hulking beacon turned out to be much smaller. In fact, everything was smaller and closer than it seemed at night. A grove of laurels within the layers of trees reminded her of the rivers edge so she stalked in that direction; More or less stumbling along on tight knees, inside a haze of deprivation. If only she had gone that direction during the night, she would have heard the river and followed it back to the place she had started. Tears filled her eyes now at what sounded a bit like radio static, but that she recognized immediately as the liquid encouragement of Svensons Creek. After several polite handfuls of cold water she submerged her face into the stream and drank until she was revived. It wasnt recommended to drink this river water untreated because it traveled through cattle country, but she couldnt have cared any less at that

moment. There was her White Alder stand and her patch of unbroken grass, now only slightly broken. And less than six hundred yards from where she had braved the night, there was her truck. Fucking, right there! She loafed to it as quickly as she could, remembering a jar of lemonade inside the tidy cab. A quick search of her pockets turned up empty for the keys. She screeched violently in anger at herself, so much so that the leaves around her trembled. Within seconds her triumph had putrefied. How easy it was to loose faith. She climbed into the truck bed defeated. Laying there on cold corrugated metal, dirty and scratched and more than a little bug-bitten; ready to give up.It was the thought of a hot shower, a cheese sandwich, and her bed that sent her back into those woods. Those fuckin keys are between here and where I spent the night, since I remember having them up to that point. And she couldnt have gone looking any later. At the base of her buckeye, a scrub jay mistaking the metal for the glistening of a wet object, struggled with the weight of her fob of keys. She chased the bird from tree to tree waving her exhausted arms above her head and jumping as high as she could on wobbly legs. Give them to me, you little shit! The irresistible aluminum sparkle under the suns first rays made the bird determined as hell and willing to dodge heavy pieces of bark Mira was lobbing at it. Finally, relinquishing its booty the bird cawed with defeat and co-misery at a crow who had been hoping for his

turn with the leftovers. By the time she made it home, it was officially morning. She had pulled an allnighter that she would take no pride in nor credit for, unlike those 36-hour days in college that she and her friends wore like badges. They always celebrated finishing their term papers the next morning at Dennys. Anitas will do, she said to herself. But, too tired to actually get up and go there, she instead gnawed on the remains of a barbecued pork-chop and an ear of silver corn from her fridge. Her shower is thorough and luxurious, but the nap afterward is what made her feel stupid for having lost a nights sleep just for the judgment she lacked. She wouldnt need this nap if she had listened to Alfonsos advice in the first place. Hours later, as she dressed to go to the party with him, she noticed there was still dirt under her fingernails.

Chapter 24
When you see such photos, you cant help but wonder at just how sweet and sad and innocent all moments of life are rendered by the tripping of a cameras shutter, for at that point the future is still unknown and has yet to hurt us, and also for that brief moment, our poses are accepted as honest. --Douglas Coupland

Alfonso came up with his outfit on his own. Mira might have bet that he wouldnt come in costume at all, causing her to look foolish. But, this was not so. From the waist up he was 1855; chocolate-colored formal jacket, crisp white shirt with tiny buttons, thin country-style bowtie, and a matching brown silk dress hat. From the waist down he was the 21st Century in jeans that could only be his, and well-worn cowboy boots with a pair of turquoise inlaid spurs at the heels. God help me. He was clean-shaven, as she has never seen him, which in itself sent a warm wave through her. In short, Mira was forced to note that he had come over looking much sexier than he ever would have if his fashion choices

had been left to her. Dressed as he was, it would not have surprised her if he arrived on horseback, which he did not- but the way he slid out of his truck and strode to her door was well enough. Mira, to her own amazement looked more captivating than even she had ever seen herself. Of course this was the plan, but it was never one she believed she could actually pull together, especially after spending a night in the woods. Earlier that day Mira had cashed in her barter credit with the hairdresser mother of the girl Mira had taken portraits of. The woman puffed Miras hair masterfully enough to carry the weight of the delicate bauble Consuela had picked out. A layer of makeup lent a glamour that was alien to Mira, the equivalent of Alfonsos shaven jaw line. Then of course the dress; The milk and honey dress, and the boots that were in their own way the best part of the whole ensemble. She loved the boots so much that she barely noticed the pain of her turned and scraped ankle. When she came out of the house, Haley and Clement who had been watching from their window, came rushing out to see the pair off. Alfonso didnt join Mira immediately. He had returned to the door of his truck- pretending to fix some loose part of the seat. He must be having second thoughts about the evening. And in a way, he was. Before Mira and Alfonso left, Haley insisted on taking a picture of them, as if these were her kids on prom night.

Once at the hotel, they were greeted by staff in French Country uniforms and lead into a packed lobby. Mira had been worried they were over-dressed, but it really was a costume ball. Among the ladies there was an abundance of feathers and flounce, while the men were particularly heavy on Abraham Lincoln-style beards and replica derringer pistols, worn in holsters over the shoulder. Mira gratefully sipped a gin fizz and looked at Alfonso over the spattered rim of her glass as he took a pint of stout from one of the servers trays; the first alcohol she had seen him drink. He was gentle with his first few tastes. After that he set the glass down and forgot about it. Mira wanted him to have that drink. It would help her case, but she knew better than to lunge at him without all the facts. It was her way to take only calculated risks, but there was never enough calculation in the world. The past several weeks she had been searching for clues, and her thoughts of him were not casual. Luckily, over the years she had well-honed her ability to hide her attractions and figured everyone else did the same. The couple nibbled stuffed mushroom caps, potato skins, and fried dumplings. Having nothing to eat the day before, it was hard for Mira not to devour every particle of food she went near. In that light she was unapologetic, taking two or three horsde ouvres from a single passed-plate at a time. The room was so full of guests, they stood in forcedmingling. I need to go outside, Mira said and scanned the room once more for appetizers. We can leave here if you want, Alfonso offered. He looked down. Get

something to eat at some other place. Oh, thats alright, she said. Something more will come by in a secondI suspect. Mira was so focused on the appetizers passing by that she didnt notice when an opportunity with a man was passing her by. Feeling their drinks, Mira and Alfonso elbowed through the throngs to get at the chicken satay. A man in a top hat stopped them. You both look ravishing. Isnt that what they used to say? Thank you, as do you, Mira replied. Must be friends of Alfonsos. The woman on the mans arm asked Alfonso what sexy brothel he has just robbed to get Mira No dear, the man corrected his wife, He looks more the Sheriff than the rogue. Hes a bandit! the woman cawed. We dont make jokes about despots in this town these days, do we? Mira chided. The woman was wearing a large peacock feather. She said, I was just saying to my husband, people of this era didnt wear underwear! Wasnt I? Her husbands rejoinder, Now, that is not true. Simply not true. They did. Of course they did. They had to! Because then they didnt have to wash their outerwear as often. Isnt that right? The man was looking to Mira for edification. Oh, me? Oh, I havent a clue, she answered, and they all watched helplessly as

the kabobs went by. Very nice to see you both again! Alfonso called out, making a path to the girl holding a tray against her shoulder. He had hooked Miras elbow on the way, swinging her behind him in a flourish. They could hear the woman saying to her husband, You see, you have no idea and you just make these things up! In a quiet seat by the window Mira and Alfonso ate kabobs. How do you know them? she asked over the din. He looked at her sideways. I thought they were your friends!

Eventually they went out on the floor for more kabobs and got stuck behind a pack of older women resembling 19th Century whores. And, by the time they reached the platter there was no chicken, however mashed potatoes were being served in martini glasses with silver spoons. Mira was pressed behind Alfonso as they attempted to traverse the room. At another stop-up she found her lips dangerously close to the back of his neck. Her mouth tingled as she became hypnotized by his scent and the way his hair curled slightly, growing finer before disappearing at the nape of his neck. Her face throbbed for that neck. She thought she might put her mouth under his ear, right there, right at that moment- unless she removed herself from its proximity. Panic washed over her at the thought of his reaction to her setting upon him. Seeing that there was no escape, her pulse fluttered out of control. Her vision began telescoping on the target. She feared she would not be in control of this

urge and was rightfully terrified that at any second she may move in for contact against her will, like the instinct to gasp for air when drowning. In an effort to extricate herself from the trance, she coughed and stomped her foot, shook her limbs, fanned her face with her fingers. In the midst of her little dance, the subject turned quite abruptly holding a martini glass of mashed potatoes. Thank you, she exhaled, and when he turned back to get a glass for himself she jammed the spoon between her lips. The back doors of the hotel were open and the courtyard behind the hotel was decorated with hanging lanterns. Under a tree sparkling with tiny lights, a pianist played ragtime jazz. Off to the side they ate and watched as others danced. A curl of hair was stuck in the corner of Miras mouth, and in a manner of gesticulation Alfonso extracted it, leading her back into a hypnotic state. Without thinking, she went to touch him, but on his way to do the same- he ended up intercepting her by the elbow. They stood there that way and continued their conversation. With strong fingers he flexed her arm repeatedly. Using her other hand, she held his wrist and bent it likewise, back and forth. To them it wasnt as awkward as it may have appeared to others, had anyone noticed in the first place. It looked more like physical therapy than lust. There was plenty of room on the patio, but Alfonso kept moving in closer to hear whatever Mira was saying. That continued, but neither was able to hear what the other was saying, so eventually they were just not talking at all. Mira closed her eyes for an instant

and opened them with her cheek against Alfonsos ear. Not knowing what else to do, they started to shuffle their feet, sort of like dancing, but not as fluid or purposeful. She still held his wrist, and he her elbow, neither willing to break their serendipitous closeness. They swayed that way in slow circles to the loud, up-tempo music; Oblivious to convention with their staccato promenade. Mira contemplated the risk of pressing her lips against Alfonsos when suddenly Bodey interrupted them. He cut-in the way cutting-in is supposed to be done, leaving Mira no chance to decline. Bodeys lead had nothing in common with the subdued chemistry with Alfonso. Bodey dipped and swirled and swung her, revealing a talent he had been saving for an opportune moment. People cheered watching the pair. Though pissed, Mira couldnt help laughing as she was tossed about and twirled like a doll. After being flipped her over Bodeys arm, Mira figured he was finished making a show, yet when the music segued into something slower he didnt let go of her. Mira sighed in an irritated fashion, stuck in the grip of a young man, watching the one with whom she wanted to be dancing as he exited the perimeter of the dance floor. Bodey said to Mira, Ive been waiting for you two to stop going around in circles all night. Finally I just decided to come over. Thats alright, Mira said on top of another exhale. I dont know what we were doing WhateverHey, I didnt know you had such skill! Staffs not supposed to dance with the guests, he explained humbly, But, Im

only working tonight as a favor. I wasnt supposed to be scheduled, but some other guys called in sick, yeah right. So I said I would. Getting time-and-a-half though, so thats pretty cool. Thats great. You look smart, by the way. Oh thanks. Smart. Thats good right? She nodded, Like snappy, or snazzy. He blurted, You look sexy. Mira went bright. Thank you. I love these boots. Bodey looked down that the footwear, So, are you in love with that hombre? Mira startled. No, she said, but just the word hombre sent a tingle of desire through her. We came as friends. Hes someone Im friends with. Whatever. Bodey looked at the pianist, and scanned the crowd for Alfonso. You mean like me? The way were friends? he asked. Mira let that one go. Bodey was still talking. But I love you, and the way he said it was so flirtatious there was really no point in addressing it. But Mira did anyway. You do not. Hes like 16! Yeeesss, he said and moved his face toward hers. Mira went rigid to hold him back. Dontkissme! she hissed. Bodey was curt, Thanks for the dance. He bowed to her olden-style.

If Mira had felt bad about hurting his feelings, that was mitigated by his leaving her alone on the dance floor after interrupting her and Alfonso in the first place. Inside the hotel, the party was beginning to thin. Costume ribbons had been handed out, and Alfonso was squeezed in next to a couple on the sofa. He had two ribbons draped over his knee. They like giving out awards in this town, dont they? Mira remarked standing in front of him. He held out a ribbon, toward her. The blue one is for you, Best Dancer. Then he hung the string of the red ribbon over his ear and made a droll face. You look good. But, Second Place? she chided. They walked out of the hotel holding hands, in part because everyone else was walking out then too and it was easier to stay together that way. Mira understood that, but wondered how they must have looked. She wanted to see them. Alfonso finally got to ask, Was that the boy who brings you the tomatoes? Yeah. Theyre really good tomatoes. Im sure he saves you the best ones. She shrugged. You still hungry? The night is my treat if you want ice cream or something. I am a little hungry still. Thank you, Mira. Im full. He let go of her hand to rub his belly. Nothing to eat then? He stopped walking. She stopped too. His hands were on his hips, and he was

staring out in the dark with a shy smirk. The expression was not directed at her, but it was still just sitting there on the face. He said, I want to ask you a question. She then returned his smirky-look. My place? Your place? He shook his headmust have changed his mind. Then he walked again. No? she said out loud. Fuck! He was quiet, rubbing his chin. It was late. He said he felt like going home to think and something told her there would be no kisses (let alone anything else) at the end of the night. He drove her home without asking the question he had asked permission to ask. When they reached her house, she let herself out of the truck before he could get around to open the door for her. She thanked him from a distance for the lovely night. Hold on, he insisted, approaching her with his arms open. He kissed her on the forehead or the cheek, or somewhere between her nose and lips. Once inside alone she stood still, with her back to the door for over half an hour.

Chapter 25
The camera is a remarkable instrument. Saturate yourself with your subject, and the camera will all but take you by the hand and point the way. -Margaret Bourke White

Miras door shook in the middle of the night. Lloyds knock was urgent and forceful. Once she was able to rouse herself, he was standing there with Haley on one side and Clement on the other with the pickup truck idling behind him; Kitty, only six months into her pregnancy, squirmed in the passenger seat. The cool night smelled like wet iron and there was no moon to cast light on any of their faces. I gotta run ma wife tatha hospital. Says she feels like shes havin this baby. Even in the darkness, Mira could see that he was sweating while his children stood next to him shivering in their nightclothes. Mira stammered, But, shes only YepIknow. It was one word. Then he turned nervously toward his wife in the truck. Couldja keep these two tonight. Were not comfortable leavinem alone in the

house. Of course not. I mean sure, sure. Yes, yes. (One sure and one yes per child.) Mira unfolded her arms and ushered the kids inside. Is there anything else I can...? But, Lloyd was already off the porch. Then he and Kitty were gone. Mira switched on a bedside lamp with a dim bulb. She could see that the kids were half-asleep, but that Clements eyes were watery. She rubbed his cold upper-arm lightly. Every thing is fine, Clem. Theyre just going as a precaution. I mean it. Nothing bads happened. He kneaded each of his eyes alternately with the same fist. The other hand was clenched to his sisters sleeve. I know, he croaked. Before Mira had a chance to think about where to put them, both the kids were into her still-warm bed. It would be barely big enough for the three of them. Once Mira was able to clamber over their bodies and get in- she noticed that she had to keep shoving one of Haleys legs over because it kept crashing into her legs at an angle. Haley, what are you doing? There isnt enough room in here for you to be all spread out like that. Im airing out, Haley replied indignantly. Airing out? Mira said, though she already had a suspicion as to the explanation. Why am I even asking? Haleys face was turned toward Miras. My nu-nu, she answered.

In the dark, Mira stared up at the ceiling and scrunched her face. Um, not in my sheets, please. Air out when youre in your own bed! Thanks! Clement shooshed them so loudly that Mira heard spittle being thrown from his lips. But Mom says I have to every night! Haley sucked in her breath irritably. All the time! All the time? Exasperation filled Miras voice. Im sure she didnt mean onehundred percent of the time. Anyway, that rule is for your bed- not mine, Mira ordered. After both kids were breathing rhythmically, Mira let herself forget about what might be happening to Kitty, and the fact that there were two children crammed in her bed in order to fall asleep.

The contractions had been a warning. The doctor gave Kitty medication to stave off any more, and ordered her to sustained bed rest for the remainder of her pregnancy. The Conlons insurance didn't cover a nurse or a stay in the hospital for that sort of thing, so the family was on their own. Ruthy suddenly found herself of great use. She wasnt squeamish about emptying bedpans, and she had a knack for fetching things like ringing telephones and misplaced remote controls, also she could be trusted to bring snacks and drinks periodically from the refrigerator- at times when they were not even wanted. In addition she was competent at

giving a sponge bath, though not necessarily neatly. In any case, it was now her turn to bathe Kitty, instead of the other way around. In fact, one could say she excelled at these tasks, bringing out a side of her as yet unseen. Some evenings, Mira would take Haley and Clement for walks just to allow Kitty recuperative quiet. That night they were walking down the lane to the house of Mrs. Agnes Pengoody to visit her pet deer, Bendy. The deer was rescued by her late husband Willard during a hunting trip where his partner had accidentally shot the fawns mother. The men took the fawn home with them, wrapped in a heavy wool blanket that normally insulted the spare tire. Because of this event, Bendy was raised by humans, and behaved much like a family dog. The house was small, and though Bendy grew tall and lanky she was always allowed inside. She slept on a rug in the living room, and roamed freely outside, most days. At night she came home for a snack and a pat before finding her rug by the wood stove. When Mrs. Pengoody had to take Bendy somewhere, as she did recently when the deer developed a skin rash on her hind quarters requiring a veterinarian, the deer rode in the back seat of the old Pengoody minivan. She was seated on two haunches and two hooves, calmly watching the scenery roll by. Once home, Mrs. Pengoody was instructed to coat Bendys rashy areas with a prescription ointment, and then to outfit the deer with a cone so she wouldnt lick the salve. She looked like a deer in a lampshade and hated it more than her very unpartylike-presence was really able to convey. Thats how Mira, Haley, and Clement found her the evening

they stopped by. They hadnt far to walk up the lane to meet Mrs. Pengoody, a widow of six years, who still preferred to be formally addressed. She was out outside in the garden wearing the purple velour sweat suit and green fabric shade-hat she wore every day in the garden, though by this hour there wasn't much sun to be shaded from. The left side of her face hung slack, stricken two summers before with Bells Palsy brought on by a minor stroke. Out of the good side of her mouth was a slender pipe that once belonged to Mr. Pengoody. She puffed on it the way he had, with fragrant tobacco smoke wafting from the drooping corner of her lips. Bendy was closed into a large chain-link pen, in a run built especially for her by Mr. Pengoody when she was a fawn, though it had been a long time since shed been relegated there. Mrs. Pengoody had been using the enclosure to grow heirloom tomatoes. Luckily most of them were in moveable pots, and due to the fact that they were heavy, it took her a whole morning and most of the afternoon to get all nine of them out, to make room for the deer. Bendy paced the length of the pen, stopping every few steps to kick at the chain links with her front hooves. Ohhhh, Haley whined, watching the captive, whose enormous wet eyes shone from inside the funnel. Shell be fine, Mira told Haley, almost as a reflex these days. She was stooped

helping Mrs. Pengoody pull weeds from her squash patch. To the womans delight, Clement begged to collect tomato grubs. She supplied him with a clean spaghetti sauce jar and together they poked holes in the metal cap and then created a landscape of twigs and leaves. Before they left, Clements jar was at max capacity. Ew! What are they? from Haley who was sitting next to Bendys cage, her hand through the links, scratching the deer behind the ears. They look like squeezes of green cheese. Theyre grubth, he explained, transfixed by the habitat. Mithuth Pengoody thed I could have them. Lucky, Haley responded sarcastically and continued petting the deer; an activity she now looked upon as her duty. Though her wrist was cramped and her arm felt weak and tingly she continued scratching Bendys head until the absolute very last second before they had to leave. Mrs. Peogoody smiled at Mira. I love when you bring these kids down to see me. Ive been watching them grow, and what a pleasure that is, though I may not look the type. Im glad you dont mind. They get bored at their house and I dont know what to do with them all the time, for Kitty's sake. I just dont want them bugging her, you know? I feel really bad for her. Yes, well hopefully shell have this baby without any problems.

I hope so. But, the last thing she needs is Haley getting all up in her grill... But anyway, guess well go and let you get on with your evening. Oh yes. Well, I've got company coming over. Mrs. Pengoody smiled bashfully. Good for you, Mrs. Pengoody. Yeah, gotta get inside. Need to do a little trim, I think. Oh? I used to cut hair for my roommates in college, Mira offered. Thats sweet dear. But, youre a young lady. Im sure you know what I mean. About to speak, Mira instead closed her mouth; Sealed it in fact. A tight tight seal. And she won't even let you call her Agnes! Dont forget these. Mrs. Pengoody said as she handed Mira a bag of squash. Theyll be good for Kitty. And send the kids down any time you get tired of em.

Tutoring Haley with a digital camera had inspired Mira to use her own more often. She had photos of Kitty suffering through another of Ruthys karaoke renditions of whatever pop song was on the radio, she had pictures of Alfonso saddling horses and of Clement riding them, Haley in her bathing suit with cucumber slices on her eyes- floating in the bath tub like it was a hot spring, Lloyd preparing an omelet for his children, Tark looking up from under a flying disc of pizza dough, the women at the salon ironing hair, Jo shoeing horses in the early morning sun with her condensed breath hanging over a pair of orange-glowing tongs.

One weekend Mira took Haley on a sojourn with the goal to take pictures of the miniature village. At Ray and Fays, the girls stood at the gate looking in, and determined that Haley was too short to get any good shots from there. Can we go in? Haley pleaded. We cant just walk onto someones property without asking. Unlike my incident with the donkey. I mean we shouldnt, anyway. Nobody ever asks, Haley protested. They knocked at the front door and Fay answered wearing a painters smock. She would be happy to open up the gate for them, she said, but would they mind spending a few minutes with her brother while they were there? Ill talk to him and you can take your pictures, Mira reassured Haley. The gate, Mira noted, now required a key from the outside and Fay went back into the house to find it. Haley stood looking through the slats. Suddenly Mira got a chill. Standing next to Haley, peering through the slats with her was the little girl in the tattered gingham dress. Oddly, Haley didnt seem to notice her there, nor did she seem aware of it when the girl ran off at the sight of Fay striding in their direction. Thank you, Haley said politely, as Fay opened the gate for them. Fay stepped aside for them to enter. Oh thats just fine Would you like to meet my brother? He built all of this. Fay directed the question at Haley, who was holding her camera ready.

He used to be an architect, Fay explained. Was just born to build, I suppose. Thats why he never forgets how, even with his illness. As with the last time Mira was there, Ray didnt care much who was around. His sister left the three of them in the shop as he continued his examination of teeny-tiny nails. Hi, Haley offered shyly. Ray said nothing and continued sorting nails. Its okay. Miras answer was reflexive. They watched him build, and listened as he muttered to himself. Haley finally drifted outside to take pictures of the village, their purpose for coming. Mira sat on a barstool by the door, swiveling occasionally to take photographs of Ray, and then Haley at work. Haley was lying on the ground per Mira's suggestion, taking pictures of the models from ground-level. The photos later turned out to appear eerily full-sized from that angle; real; Showing the close attention Ray had paid to every detail. All corners of the construction were perfectly finished, every element in proportion. Ray was nailing on a roof the size of a playing card, and though he didnt seem to notice Mira there, he occasionally looked around suspiciously, like a person who thought they smelled something burning but couldnt find the source. He shoved a medium-sized box onto the back of a shelf, haphazardly arranging several objects in front of it: an empty picture frame, an old windshield wiper, a can of Conuba wax. Mira look! Haley called. Some of these houses have pictures in the windows!

I know! Mira called back. Cool, huh? Again, Ray seemed oblivious to their conversation. Mira wandered outside to watch Haley, who had knelt among the buildings, trying to get her camera in front of the ones she liked best. When Mira returned to the garage there was the little girl in the gingham dress standing next to Ray at his workbench. Miras heart thudded and her blood went gray. The girl smiled. Ray looked down at the child and suddenly became very animated. To Miras astonishment he acted as if he didnt have Alzheimers. Virginia! he said to her in a young voice, and the girls eyes sparkled up at him. Ive been wondering where you were today. Look! Ive finished another! Still needs paint and shingles. See? he held it up for her to look inside. I put some things in there for the Lavisports, he whispered. Good people. He can see her. Mira left the garage. Readytogo? she hastily queried Haley and did a sort of grande pleae to imitate calm. I guess, Haley replied, picking the remnants of dry leaves off her sweatshirt. Should I say bye? Nah Oh? Well, if you want. Haley disappeared into the shop, and then emerged a second later. They walked out through the miniature garden and Mira secured the gate behind them. In the car she dared to ask. Did you say bye?

Uh huh. Just to Ray? Yep.

At home they found Lloyd working at the lock on the shed with a coping saw. He had made a couple of good grooves, but progress was slow. Hey, youre getting us in there! Aint getting anywhere much. He corrected her, pointing to the cuts in the metal. Feels like I hit another kind-of-something inside. Bummer, she examined the cuts, rubbing over the gouged metal with her fingertips. If you leave the saw here can I work on it? Lloyd nodded and resumed his back and forth motion. His forearms were sinewy, his skin tanned such a deep orange that the hairs springing out of its surface, sparse and wild, looked like the sun-bleached weeds in a field. On a backward stroke the coping saw's blade snapped and Lloyd fell onto the grass, looking immediately for any bloody gashes left by the wayward blade. He tried not to curse in front of his daughter, and was able to keep it to damnit! and motherof! Luckily, he had not sustained injury, but would not resume sawing. And you aren't either, he commanded Mira. Nuff trips to the hospital as it is. Haley stood behind them, with her hands on her hips. I think were going to need

dynamite, she said.

Chapter 26
Youve got to struggle against the pollution of intelligence in order to become an animal with very sharp instincts- a sort of intuitive medium- so that to photograph becomes a magical act, and slowly other more suggestive images begin to appear behind the visible image, for which the photographer cannot be held responsible. --Robert Doiseneau

Several ghosts in white cotton sheets floated about the streets of Vanishing River the night the news came back about Jim Tabneys murder. Ballistics reports indicated it was Jims own gun, by his own hand that had killed him. However, to those who believed in the guilt of an Indian, the information would have little impact.

Mira, Haley, and Clement were getting dressed up to go trick-or-treating with Jos two boys, Will and Joaquin. Haley went as a soccer player- because she already had the outfit- and Clement was a peapod. It was his idea to wear a green sack stuffed with newspaper and to paint his face green- causing his lips and the rims of his eyes to appear bright pink. Jos boys went as video game characters Mira didnt recognize. In lieu of a costume, Mira herself wore a lipstick-red wig she bought at the gift shop, and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses she found in Franks closet. She made sure they went out of their way to stop at Alfonsos house. The kids knocked and he answered the door with the telephone to his ear. Trick-or-treat! the kids chimed, and he absently dropped handfuls of Tootsie Rolls into their bags and continued his conversation in Spanish. He didnt seem to recognize any of them, not even Mira. Before he could close the door she snatched off her glasses. This caused him to throw his head back with a grin. He covered the receiver with his palm and whispered, I couldnt recognize you! Its me! She beamed uncontrollably. It is good to see you, he said, for a moment forgetting the receiver in his hand. You look funny. His smile was totally engrossing. Im scary closet-lady. She crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out. He had already dropped fistfuls in the kids baskets. Una momento, Meja. He

covered the mouthpiece again. Closet Lady wants sweets? Nah. Its okay, she replaced her glasses and ushered the kids away. It was difficult not to think about him for the rest of the night. At his door she had been bathed in his smell, which she kept pouring over herself. That was her sweet. Who was he on the phone with? Was he trying to brush me off? Was he glad to see me? The adult conversation in her head went on, interrupted only at brief intervals by children wondering where to go next in their quest for treats. At Pastor Rubin's, instead of fake blood or animatronic goblins, the front lawn was festooned with a glowing plastic nativity scene. Mary, only about three-feet tall, kneels with her equally petit husband next to their Christ child lit-from-within by a 60-watt bulb. Over the manger, in lights, was a custom made sign, "The Only Ghost is the Holy Ghost." Clement asked of the sentiment, "Ith it true?" "Nah," Mira said. "Oh, its just like the other scary stuff tonight."

There werent a lot of houses with jack-o-lanterns or porch lights on, but the kids were able to fill their pillowcases about halfway before arriving in front of an old Victorian manion, behind a long line of kids. Whats this? Mira asked Haley, who always seemed to know at least something about everything in town, even when she was misinformed. She gives out brew! Haley wiggled spooky-fingers. Its just root beer. But,

shes a real witch, though. Clement had never been there but had heard about this witch and her homemade drink, as had Will and Joaquin, who usually did their trick-or-treating with their father, in another town. Homemade root beer? How very Martha-Stewart, Mira mused. From the end of the line they could see a pale old woman in a rocking chair on the porch. Joaquin, who was the younger of the brothers, expressed his inclination to forego this stop. Flying in the trees next to them were witches with pantyhose-faces wearing dresses fashioned out of garbage bags. A pair of red eyes glowed from the window of a second story bedroom. Shes not real, his older brother reassured him with false bravado. It-th the witch! Clement was hopping from one foot to the other. You can have some too. Haley explained to Mira as they moved forward in the line. She gives it to anyone who waits. Even the parents. Sometimes she tells people something. Tells what? I dont know. She tells things. Its like embarrassing. Her voice is gross. It took them a few minutes to make it to the top of the steps at one end of the porch. At the other end, under a pergola, the woman in witches garb ushered them forward with a gnarled finger, long nails filed to a point and painted black. In front of her, the smoke of

dry ice billowed down the sides of a bubbling "cauldron" of fizzing liquid. She was rocking slowly forward and back, surrounded by nylon cobwebs with wire spiders suspended from them. Silently she ladled a cup at a time and handed one to each person. The kids thanked her politely in barely audible voices, as they went down the back steps to make room for the next group to come forward. As they left the porch Mira heard the old woman hissing. Haley gasped and grabbed Mira's sleeve. The people in line hushed their conversations to hear what the witch was about to say. Aw, crap, Mira whispered to herself. The witch put her fingers up to the trach-tube in her neck to block the air so she could force some sound out of her throat. Arent you Franks girl? Mira nodded. Come back tomorrow. I have something for you.

The kids had carved pumpkins earlier in the evening and three out of five still glowed when they got home. Ruthy was ready and waiting with a basket of candy to hand out, but not a single trick-or-treater had come out their way. She was terribly excited when she opened the door for Haleys knock. Trick or Treat! Ruthy called out with gusto and made a show of putting handfuls of mini chocolate bars into their bags. Jos boys immediately went about combining their take for the evening and then

dividing it between them based on their individual favorites. Mira reckoned that every kid handles the windfall of sugar on Halloween in their own way. Some kids eat all theyre candy along the way so that there isnt any left by the time they get home. Other kids wait until they get home so they can count it up before devouring it all in a single sitting. There are other kids who only like certain types of candy and go about trading the rest with friends. Then there are those special kids who seem to truly take pleasure in sharing their candy with others. When it comes time, there are different styles of candy-eating as well. As it turns out, Clement was the kind who ate all his least favorite candy first so that he still had the best of it to look forward to. His sister was the opposite, eating all her best candy first- just in case anything should happen to her and she never got to the rest of it. Mira remembered herself being the kid who hoarded her haul, barely even touching it, so that by the time Halloween came around again, she had stale packets of Nerds, Twizzlers, Three Musketeers, Reeses Cups, Blow-pops, milk duds, Fire-balls, Milky Ways, Butterfingers, Laughy Taffy, and Twix bars in her bucket from the year before. Rather than eating her candy, it pleased her more just to know she had it stashed away.

The next morning, around eleven oclock, Mira and Clement rode their bikes to the witchs house. They were greeted by the smell of roasted pumpkin. The candles that had burned all night, had puckered the orange jack o' lantern lips and curled them inward, like

old ladies without their dentures. They found the witch inside the house, dressed impossibly in jeans and a fuzzy turquoise sweater. Her exuberant blonde hair had been forced into a banana clip and she wore a flattering shade of pink lip gloss. Most shocking of all: she was not old. Clement tugged on Miras shirt. Ith that the witch? The woman handed Mira a folder and covered her trachea-tube to speak. I understand youre keeping track of Franks collection? Mira nodded. Have a seat, said the young witch, whose name was Marinda. She had a tea service already set up for them at the dining room table. Mira opened the folder. Inside was a picture of a woman in her seventies with a wide nose, her hair fixed into a bun at the top of her head. She sat in a dark kitchen with a dim overhead light somewhere in the room behind her. It was his mother, Marinda explained. I used to look after Jeremy and Ruthy when they were tiny. Then I looked after Frank too, when Aida left. Frank and I well we became close. You probably already knew that." Mira searched Marindas face trying to recognize her from any of Frank's pictures.

He talked a lot about his mother, but he said it was only to me. He said something about her and I thought it was so beautiful that I wrote it down.

Mira held the four-by-six inch print at arms length. It had not been exposed well and lacked the sparkling textural quality of Franks work. Its the first picture Ive seen of his mother or of any of his family, really. Do you know if he took it himself? I mean I dont think he took it. Do you? Both Marinda and Clement shrugged their shoulders. Marinda said, I never asked. But, I have held onto it. Heard you were here and figured you might probably want it for his lifes work. I dont know what I would do to keep it anyway. She was stirring sugar into Clements tea. Cream? she asked him. He nodded, but probably wouldnt end up drinking it either way. Holding the print by its edges, Mira turned the paper over to find neatly written on the back, I was her dream. Miranda watched Mira read the words. Let me explain, Marinda said. Franciss mother survived the holocaust. Was liberated from Bergen-Belsen at the end of the war. Lost her whole family before they could get out. She told Francis that she was inspired to survive by her dream of having a son of her own to carry on her fathers name. That was how she survived. That is what got her through. That dream is what got her out alive. He said to me My purpose in life was fulfilled, just by being born. I remember he told me she was proud of him no matter what he did and that the only things she ever complained about were of having too thick hair which grew too fast. He also mentioned he had one sister with a club foot and another sister living in New Hampshire. Nothing of his father, and I didnt ask.

Mira rested the picture in the folder. Well, Marinda added, I thought it was something at the time. Maybe it was the way he said it. I just remember it gave me chills. Also because it was the end of our relationship. I don't know if he planned it that way or not but he said it, I was her dream then he gave me the picture and asked me not to come back again.

November brought Vanishing River closer to the deadline for the sale of the Bafflehaus land. The Southern California Indian Tribunal was in town again lobbying for a deal with Jeremy Bafflehaus. A casino in Vanishing River being imminent motivated the Kingdom of Heaven to start unprecedented fundraising efforts in nearby towns Murphys, Mokelume, Sonora, Jackson. There were rumors that the church was inching toward their financial goal, thanks in part to Big Lous money, which they had blessed and added to their kitty. Meanwhile, the Southern California Indian Tribunal is already having plans drawn for the casino. Even non-Indian townspeople were eager for the prospect of jobs and recreation promised with the building of the gaming facility. There would be stage acts in the proposed concert venue, tourists from all over the country needing meals and somewhere to stay. There would be more money in that town than it had ever seen before. Jorge Svensons dream would finally be realized sort of. But in the guts of most people in Vanishing River was the fear that a casino would

bring with it a seedy clientele- people who would spend all their money on alcohol and drugs- prostitutes would be next. Even people in support of a casino worried about the traffic, the mess, the new infrastructure needed to accommodate masses who were bound to arrive in search of their kind of gold. Next would be the gambling addicts among the townspeople themselves, just waiting to emerge and be exposed every day to their vice. Locals feared the towns children going hungry as rent checks and mortgage payments disappeared with the wind. All of the money going to the Indians! The town would fall apart over this, and its beautiful land suited best for the worship of God, would become sullied by lovers of sin. Straight from heaven, via Pastor Rubin it became the good peoples holy responsibility to reclaim this land for Jesus Christs second-coming. This is our part. This is what we can do to save humanity right here in our backyard.

I have to say this, Alfonso looked at Mira walking next to him through town, I would rather see the church than the casino. The Golden oaks were nearly devoid of leaves, letting in a great deal more light along this path than there had been during the summer. Only a few inferior acorns remained on the ground- as the best ones had already been gathered by squirrels. The scent of wood smoke was such a part of the air everyday that it seemed to rise from the ground in the morning before anyone had the chance to light their stoves. Earlier in the week some locals at the grocery store assured Mira that there would be more warm weather before winter, but

that would not turn out to be the case. She had explained to them that back home this time of year, this kind of cold would have had people outside in their shorts. I understand why you would say that about not having a casino, but dont you think its Indian land? I hope they get it. But, what will happen if they get the casino and it doesnt make money? Would the Indians still get to keep the land? It will make money. That is what casinos in California do. People around here are fully hating each other. Did you hear about how that tribe from down South was treated at the hotel? Alfonso shook his head. What happened? They checked in, I guess there were about eight or so. The owner, who I think is a real bastard by the way, pardon me, found out who they were so he had the maids skip their rooms the next day and the next day! When they came down asking for more towels he said they were all out of towels. Told them they were given towels when the rooms were cleaned. But all of them knew their rooms werent touched! They complained of course. I would have. And you know what they told them? To take their business elsewhere! So they left. Cant put a casino in a town where the community is against it anyway. Thats the law, Willy said. Alfonso sighed. Im prattling. How am I ever going to kiss Alfonso if I cant shut up? I dont even know what the hell Im saying. I could be saying this out loud instead of just thinking it. Oh

God! Am I saying it? Hiding a look of panic, Mira glanced at Alfonso who appeared to have forgotten her there. Plans for the holidays? Going to New York? he finally asked. Maybe. If I dont it will be a first. I just dont have the money to be flying back and forth, like none, so maybe theyll come out here. How bout you? She wanted to hold his hand as they walked, but held her hands together to avoid accidentally taking his. Im going to Mexico, actuallyIve been afraid to go because my Visa has expired. Perhaps they wont let me come back in to this country. I should have gone a few months ago but I didnt manage to arrange the journey. What if they dont let you back in? Miras pulse quickened. I will have to swim that river, or what is the saying? Whenever I come to it I will figure it out, if it happens. I dont mean the Rio Grande. I knew what you meant. Why do you need to go now? To see my family, and my girlfriend. Having finally said it he released the air in his lungs, and it came out as a dry cough. The word girlfriend hummed in Miras ears. Girrrrrlllllll fffffrrrriendddd..It was like an expanding cloud of tear gas that took over her brain, fuzzing out her ability to cogitate. She must have misheard him. But hes still talking! Soon to be my fianc, I am hoping. For emphasis he held up two annoyingly crossed fingers.

If not for the nebulous gas, she may have thought to hold up a finger of her own. Oh? she was trying once again to sound casual when she didnt feel it. I had no idea Wow congratulations. Adrenaline was leaking from her pores. She couldnt take her focus off the pebbles they were shuffling over. Brown, blue gray, sharp, round, flat, broken, red, black, brown, black, brown, tan, dusty, round, oblong, speckled, jagged, smooth, cloddy, parallelogram, trapezoid, striated, smooth, striped, round, perfect egg. Blah, blah, blah. I hope that she will most likely say yes, he babbled. I have been planning our life for many years and I am trying to raise the money to bring her here. I guess Ive just been feeling it is time to ask her, though I dont currently have enough money saved. Mira was stunned. STUNNED. She almost tripped several times, confused about where to place her next footfall. Well, thats exciting, isnt it? She pasted the decal of a smile to her face, and it looked as it felt. He didn't notice anyway. You see, I told her I would marry her one day so You never mentioned her she tried to confirm, shaking her head. Yes Not once. He didnt speak. Pebbles crunched and gritted beneath his boot heals. Mira no longer knew him. He was the enemy; A trickster prince. You have her picture? she asked. He seemed surprised by the query. No, not really. But, then he apologetically

extracted a palm-sized rectangle from between the worn folds of his wallet. For a second, her curiosity chased her nausea away and she was able to look down at his hand. The face of a diminutive auburn-plaited girl smiled up at her. Fuck, he has a kid too. Her vision distorted and she thought about sitting down on the ground before she woke up there. He tried to explain, This is her. Only you see, it is her school picture. Schoo' piture? Her mouth wasn't forming words properly. It is old, you see? Shes maybe eight years of age. Marta, my girlfriend, fianc maybe, whatever you like to call her. What would I like to call her? Mira stared into the borders of the print, trying to envision the adult inside the child. Alfonso gazed at the photograph. I just like this picture of her. I should keep an updated one. Yeah, you should, Mira snapped, feeling cheated out of having a genuine look at the woman loved by her beloved. If I could just see what she really looks like I could understand this. I could maybe understand why hes done this. She glanced at her watch. I have to go. Im supposed to get Haley for class. And Clement for horses. And Im late anyway. But instead of hurrying off Mira lingered there, knowing that this might be the last time she would see him. Her heart had been torn from her chest and thrown forcefully into the dirt, where it now lay disengaged but beating, in a

puddle of thick, bloody mud. Sand and bits of sticks and leaf fragments clung to its tacky purple surfaces. She would walk away and leave it there on the ground, and go home to staunch the flow from the gaping wound in her chest wall. Congratulations, by the way, she managed. Thats really great. And as an afterthought she patted him on the shoulder. Thank you, but I havent asked her yet. Oh come on. What do you think shes going to say? Puh-leese. I mean really. Buck up. Youre a catch.

That night Mira lay in bed trying to force sleep upon her self. Usually it came so easily when she didnt need or even want it to. Now when it was her only escape it eluded her. Just like Alfonso himself. Both he and sleep felt unreachable and mysterious to her. Her mind circled around, swerving back to the evenings revelation, his voice laying it on her over and over and over and over and over and over. It never making any more sense than it did when he said the first time. Sometime very late Mira finally drowned in exhaustion. The sounds of a playground jingle jangled. Her vision, like a periscope, brought Martas face up in front of her. It was the same picture she had seen in Alfonsos palm that day, flaxen with age and bordered in crisp white. The tiny girl smiled and suddenly turned her small head, motioning to be followed. Me? Mira wondered if there might be someone else behind her. She felt herself sweep through the frame, as light as air. The playground materialized around them

and she stood in the sandbox next to Marta who was wearing a red smock and shorts. Mira watched her as she is narrated a scenario about her castles of sand with a voice like a toy. She was sweet and Mira found that she liked her, which came as a surprise. Joining the game, Mira was a child herself with heavy bangs hanging in front of her eyes, wearing sneakers that had never quite stopped being her favorites. Marta handed Mira a spoon for digging. They carved a river channel around themselves. When they were finished Marta explained that they would be sitting on an island. Alone on an island with Marta. Watching the way the girls deft, baby-like hands strongly reinforced the canal walls reminded Mira of her own efforts; This excavation of sand brought her some peace, one moist spoonful at a time: carving, then smoothing, carving, then smoothing. Her own hands were small enough to fit both on the spoon handle. But, the dream was too short for her to absorb its tranquil notion. The morning sun dissolved her vision, taking with it that calm sensation, along with her fondness for Marta.

Chapter 27
I want to stroke the little girls cheek. Tell her she will be all right. Make everything all right. I want to curl up on the floor and cry. I want it all to go away. But it will never go away. So I do what I always do. I absorb yet another dose of it. I expose a few frames of film and myself to every nuance of the horror of a child torn apart by shrapnel The photograph is grotesquely beautiful. I have turned a scream into music. --Morten Hvaal

The goal was to finish before Christmas, figuring she could have the studio empty by the end the month with a few weeks left to look through whatever was left in the house, to finally break open the shed outside, to pack it all off to the museum- unravel its mysteries later. If she was right, that shed would yield work Frank did in the late seventies and early eighties, the period in his career where he did not publish any photographs and withdrew his association with the Magnum photographers. The question of what he was doing during the intervening years remained unknown. Enthusiasm for home renewed, Mira started with her plan immediately, not waiting a day after leaving Alfonso by the river. For the next two weeks she saw little of anyone except Haley and Clement, Lloyd, Kitty, and occasionally Virginia, whom she mostly pretended not to see, except once when she hazarded to photograph the girl, who ran away from the camera.

Big Lou had not been seen much by anyone lately. He stayed in his house as if it were a cave on a mountainside. Every single person in town had heard the story that he had stolen the churchs money and then murdered Jim Tabney to cover it up. Anywhere he went, even to buy groceries, he was studied with suspicion. Mira had gone to see him only once since his arrest and he had barely spoken to her. His hair lay in greasy tangles over his face, and he seemed to be wearing the same pair of sports socks in and out of the house making them filthy, caked with dirt, stuck with cattails, and full of holes. There had been threats against his workshop in town and so he had moved all of his stock, finished and unfinished, out of it and into his home. There were stacks of furniture in every open space, and piled to the rafters. Though unwilling to admit it to herself, it was out of pity that Mira offered to bring him something he could eat, and he accepted, but so far she hadnt been back to see him. He was a burden on her mind many days as she slogged through folders of loose negatives and proof sheets. Exhausted by the guilt, she finally resolved to pay him a visit, and though she couldnt cook worth a damn, she managed to create a dish of macaroni and cheese; discovering that the secret to it was a touch of nutmeg and a lot more cheese and butter than anyone would want to know was in there. While she stirred the cheese sauce she thought of Alfonso singing in his kitchen. She hadnt seen him since his cheerfully devastating announcement two weeks before. One afternoon on her way home from a walk, she was pretty sure she saw his truck leave her

driveway but she never investigated to confirm it. Her perception of his feelings toward her had been obviously of her own creation; as such things were the norm for her. On top of that humiliation, she felt genuinely lonely for him and wished to have him around again. What do I have to lose? I have no dignity as it is. Whats dignity got to do with it anyway? Thats just something that comes and goes. Why not? Put yourself out there. If he rejects you then its his fault. Every aspect of her life suddenly seemed like a total loss. Her dignity, she humbly realized, was all she really had left. But this hiding was not dignity. It was no better than what Big Lou was doing. This hiding was what her friend Lisa had warned her against. This hiding had been what irritated Art about her. This hiding was not something to protect, but something to eradicate. Her macaroni bake emerged from the oven unique among pasta dishes. Only a really bad cook could create such a masterpiece and then never be able to make it again. Its extra special like you! she pictured herself chirping to Big Lou, then she cringed. She had magazines for him: Field and Stream, Woodworker, Sports Illustrated, hoping they would bring his spirits up. Id like it if someone brought me these things, except instead of macaroni, Id want sushi; something so cheerful about the way each piece sits like a jewel on the plate. Red roe, pink ginger, bright green wasabiAnd Id like to hear Dolly Parton while I eat. By the time she arrived at his house, humming the tune to Nine to Five, she was in a better mood; a bright feeling like splashing in the shallows of a sunny lake. To the contrary,

she found her friend at the bottom of the ocean. She thought of this man like a father, making his appearance now seem all the more shocking. Hed lost at least twenty pounds and his skin looked anemically pale. He was missing patches of hair and had none but a few spare eyebrows and eyelashes left on either side. In a brave effort he forced a smile for her, but he was so anxious and weak that his cheeks trembled under the weight of it. Once inside she tried not to look disturbed, which was difficult. I brought you some fun stuff, she sang. Peering around the room, the house looked ransacked. It smelled of urine and wood sap. Wheres Jo? she asked. Oh her, his bottom lip curled under. I thought since we disagreed about what was happening and all, that maybe until its resolved then we shouldnt be living under the same roof.Guess she got someplace in town. You know shes a born-again? She did tell me about that. She found God because of her drug problem and her kids. You know she had a drug problem? Mira nodded. "Alcohol- I thought." Shes siding with them, you know? Big Lous eyes looked perpetually teary as he spoke. Shes helping them take the land. I aint laid eyes on the female since she got her ass out of here. Mira frowned... Macaroni bake? She held the still warm dish out toward him. We can eat some together.

He looked in through the glass lid, and then turned away. You go ahead, sit down an eat if you like. Dirty dishes were piled so high in the sink that there wasnt a clean one left in any of the cupboards. She set the food amid piles of unopened mail and carving tools on the dining table. You okay? she asked, knowing he couldnt be much worse, but where she came from such questions were asked customarily. Plus, she considered, maybe hell even answer me. I am just surviving, he admitted, and turned away as his face convulsed into tears. Barely. His voice became inaudible. Mira took a deep breathe. She had to. Why dont you leave here? I dont like the way people look at me in this town. I never have, but now I cant stand it. He held up a fist. Im sorry. She said and watched him shuffle toward the couch in the dank living room. Why dont you leave town then, for a while? Do you have relatives somewhere you could visit? He just cried. Mira feared her presence was making him worse. Her eye sockets burned. Would you like me to leave? She asked selfishly and hoped for a yes. No! he nearly shouted, and thrust an arm out to grab at the air. She cringed from the edge of the table. You seem pretty bad off. He shook his head back and forth. I am very bad off, Mira. Very bad off.

She came closer to give her friend a hug. How could this happen to such a good and gentle man? Next to him on the couch, holding on to his sleeve, she could smell the alcohol seeping from his pores and remembered that he had purposefully not been a drinker. He took one of her hands with both of his and began kneading it in rhythm with the nodding of his head. Shed never held hands with him before, and though the rest of his body was atrophied his hands remained firm. He placed her palm against his oily forehead. She waited there, growing deeply afraid of his sadness. He looked up at her with eyes glazed pink. I need you, he whispered hoarsely. Miras neck tightened like a winch. Her stomach, thighs, and calves all drew in. His grip on her hand sought to keep her next to him. He repeated I need you. His stare was absolutely insistent. Confusion overrode her senses. All she could do was shake her head and hope to find that he meant something other than what she knew he meant. Thanks to her misfortunate tendency toward sweaty palms, her hand slipped out of his grip as if it had been squeezed from a tube. As she backed into the entryway, she said, I brought you some food, as if the last five minutes had never taken place. From a safe distance, Big Lou looked like a once-strong buck now trapped up to his neck in a bog surrounded by mountains of forest on fire, incapable of escape. The way he dropped his head to his chest made her feel humiliated for him.

Slumped, staring at his hands in his lap, I have feelings for you, he moaned, and shook his head back and forth as she closed the door behind her with tremendous sadness and a fleeting sense of relief.

She had been overwhelmed before in her life; burdened by anguish so fierce it was like being possessed. Unable to return to her quiet, steady room, stirred by frustration and impotence, she went out past her front door and into the meadow, collecting stones along the way, with no purpose in mind, and when she reached the graceful white oak that stood over the mortar stone she began to pelt it violently; One stone after the other, as hard as she could throw. The force was so great that her shoulder strained to keep her arm attached to here torso. She envisioned protesters with signs in red spray paint: Stop Arboreal Abuse! She hadnt known she was going to do what she did, but when she arrived at the tree it invited her fury. When the rocks were all gone, she started grabbing more from the ground around her. Angular chunks of white quartz dusted with red silt. She flung them almost as quickly as she could pick them up; Tearing off small branches and leaves with the force of her blows. Each rock she launched was for anger and shame, the inability to make her mothers death less painful, her embarrassment about Art and Big Lou, her love for Alfonso that would never be admitted to or denied. By the time she ran out of rocks her forearms were scratched and covered in the dirt that had stuck to her sweat. In her hair were tiny flakes of bark and lichen that had been dislodged from the tree. Oh, but now there

would be febricity to her actions. Now the maniacal hurling had ruptured the membranes surrounding even deeper anger and repressed humiliation and she sent it all out like poison into the unsuspecting tree. Tears and sobs and snot dripped from her face. She gouged new rocks from the soil, prying them up with her fingernails when the sticks she was using snapped under the force, inflicting a tear, red dirt filling the bloody corner of her nail bed. The injury spurred her to bigger rocks that took two arms to heave upward. She had seriously wounded this tree, she knew, its gashes were beginning to weep, but she also knew it was the only living thing on earth that could absorb the brunt of her emotions. She cursed the tree for being so unyielding as she pummeled it. She hated it for not shaking more when it was hit. She wished she could hear it cry out in pain. If it could cry, she thought guiltily, I would have stopped this by now. I know I would. But she hadnt stopped and she somehow loved the tree for its being too stubborn to tremble. She touched the sap with her tender fingers, then smeared it on her jeans. Eventually she ran out of rocks and anger and tears and grunts and pain. She walked away knowing that the tree would heal with new bark long before she did.

All she wanted now was to cocoon inside her covers. Ten minutes after getting home, her shoes off and her face rinsed, the door rattled near the knob with frenetic knocks. She opened it slowly, hoping irrationally to see Alfonso (who would never have knocked like that.)

You dont ever see us now since youre working and working all the time, Haley complained. Mira felt she had to defend herself. Its only been a couple days. Nuh huh, Haley replied, incredulous. What? It has too! Im really tired right now though, you guys. I cant hang out. Its been two weeks since we went for a walk. What have you been doing anyway? Haley noticed Miras hands. Collecting sticks and stuff, she told her. Really? For what? Mira shrugged. Is that how you got cut? Yeah, she answered without looking at them. The first finger on her left hand was oozing blood and trembling. Haley took the band-aide from her and peeled off the backing, then gently wrapped it around Miras finger. Mira could feel the warmth of Haleys small fingers through the adhesive vinyl. Ith been a looong time, Clement added sitting down on the doormat. He didnt look as upset as his sister. Thank you, Haley. And, Im sorry, guys. I just have a lot to do if Im going home by Christmas.

Chrith-muth! Yeah Im sorry but... I need to get back to New York. Ill miss you guys, but I cant live here forever. Right then her surroundings became stifling. The doorframe was boxing her in. Yeth you could! Clement cried, but Haley said nothing; Her cheeks crimped into a severe frown as she pivoted to leave. Hey Hay, Hayley. Come back here. Hey hey Haleyits like a song I want to hear about your picture-taking. Please dont be mad. Im sorry. The girl plopped onto the bottom stair at the end of Miras porch. The nights were starting earlier now, and even though it was only 6:45 it was already dark. Mira turned on the porch light and oak moths immediately fluttered in from the surrounds. She stayed next to Haley. Its not for a while yet. Dont worry. Were going to do lots of stuff together before then. Haleys tears recharged and she turned to look up at her friend. Im teaching my mom to read. Mira felt a calm ease into her as she was able to hearten Haley where she had not been able to with Big Lou. Haley rubbed her nose with her sleeve and stood up. She put both hands on Miras shoulders so that they were eye to eye. You said we would go wading in the river. And to the cavern-th! Clement threw in from somewhere behind them.

Haley blasted him a sneer, and he retreated behind a bush. Thats right, well have to do that too, Mira claimed. But I think its gotten too cold for the river. But you said! Haley whined. Im sorry, but it has. Do you want to get in the river? I dont. Its freezing now. Well do something else instead. You can decide. Lloyd appeared on his porch calling his children for supper. Just make it something we can actually do, ok? And have a nice dinner. Say hi to your mom for me. I havent gone over today. Im teaching her more of the alphabet tonight, Haley said before walking away. Then if she already knows it all well practice vowel sounds. A-E-I-O and U and sometimes Y.

f/5.6

You were with her the day she took this photograph. She was using the digital camera you gave her. It wasnt a sophisticated thing, just a simple 36mm point-and-shoot. You were getting her used to the idea that she could take as many pictures as she wanted and delete the ones she didnt like. Still, she stood for quite a while at the ridge getting the right composition in her viewfinder. This photo was one of three she took of the scene, and it turned out to be a gorgeous little panorama of Vanishing River from above. No professional could have taken a better one. It had taken you both all afternoon to reach the crest of the hill over-looking town. Your thighs and calves were burning for most of the trek. But it was a picturesque day, cool and breezy, with enough clouds in the sky to make it look interesting, but not so many that there wasnt plenty of sun glinting off the windows of buildings and the little river that trickles through town. In this picture that river looks more like a stream. The hues at this time of year are rich browns and warm yellows. The orange and red stage seems to get skipped. Pines among the bare-deciduous keep everything looking somewhat green, but mostly the colors convey sadness and a need to believe in the arrival of spring. The picture makes the scene a little brighter and dewier than it looked to you that day. You and Haley made sandwiches in the morning and packed juice boxes and GORP, apples and granola bars, which were the only part neither of you ate later on the

ridge. During the hike she made you promise to take her to the site of where the church children froze to death (except for one,) after the bus crash. You agreed to take her. But you have to promise, well lie about it to my mom, because she already said Im not supposed to think about that crash too much because I get afraid. She told you about how when tutoring her mother, she already knew the alphabet pretty much so they moved right into vowels. They were going to start spelling words next. You told her that it sounded like she had a natural ability to teach reading, which she did, and having her mother laid up in bed provided her with the perfect opportunity to use that gift. The trail was mostly dirt and rocks going straight up hill. The wildflowers had all finished blooming, allowing their stalks to grow taller before dying. Either side of the trail was lined with Manzanita bushes and dry weeds. It gets prettier at the top, Haley assured you, but you already thought it was pretty; Though not what you usually thought of as pretty, because it wasnt spectacular or lush or varied, but it was pretty because it was real and here and earth. A niche rarely appreciated these days for its quiet rugged qualities. Looking at the picture, you notice something you didnt when you stood on that ridge in the early afternoon the day it was taken. The little houses in the frame remind you of somewhere you had seen before, somewhere tiny, the way the town looks from afar. You recognize how much it resembles Rays little village. The rectangular rooftops and the placement of hillocks, all remind you of his yard. Of course in the real thing there are many

more houses and buildings than in his version, but with a little imagination you can see the similarities. In Haleys photo there are two cars going down the road and what is definitely a clump of people outside the hotel. There is your house and the old church, the big oak behind your house. It takes a moment, but you can also find the school, the Diner, and the studio. Though the place you and Haley were standing when she took the picture looks like somewhere no one has ever been before, you knew by looking at it now that at least one person had. Ray had been here at some point in his life and had marveled at this vista as well, and it had been memorable to him. After this picture was taken Haley led you down the trail to the other side of the crest and into the gorge where the river cuts through to the village. A little ways from here, before it leads into town the river is covered by a bridge for cars that pass Vanishing River without going in. It is a low bridge which is sometimes flooded over if the rains stay heavy for long. You two could have walked down to that bridge to cross over because the water was not deep but it was so cold there should have been ice along the edges. Haley convinced you to take off your shoes and socks as she had, so you could wade across together. You figured that this is only a little girl who has slept in your bed, so she must know or you hoped at least that she wouldnt care, about your un-funny foot. You both sat on a rock at the edge as you peeled off your footgear. When you put your remaining toes in the water Haley just stopped and stared- as if she was seeing a truth that fascinated and excited her.

Its just my foot, you said nervously. They came off in a lawnmower accident, but luckily I dont remember it. You wiggled your big toe and your second toe, but the third has always been kind of useless in the wiggling department. Haley slowly pulled her eyes away and looked up at you with confident wonder. You were too small to remember. She petted your knee, the foot being too far away for her to reach from where you were sitting. I dont think its weird, she added. I think its nice.

Chapter 28
The fundamental belief in the authenticity of photographs explains why photographs of people no longer living and of vanished architecture are so melancholy. --Beaumont Newhall

Thanksgiving in Vanishing River brought with it a layer of snow so light that if you were in the bathroom when it fell and someone called to you Come quick and see! it would have melted before you could pull up your pants and get out there. Any amount of snow caused Mira to long for her family. This year her family would have to be the Conlons; Everyone sitting in front of TV-trays around Kittys bed, eating piles of turkey, bland mashed potatoes covered in gravy from a packet, green beans with those fried onions from a box sprinkled on top. No one but Kitty understood how gravy sprung from a Turkeys carcass, so they used a packet Mira found in Franks kitchen that God knows how long it had been there; Tasted fine though, if not a little salty. Bing Crosby serenaded them as they ate. Christmas music was a passion of Ruthys and she had been sampling it all through summer; Terrible stuff to hear in August.

It was all they could do to put her off until Thanksgiving commenced. The minute the meat had been carved from the bird, Ruthy had an album in her hand. Mira stood up to help Lloyd serve the cobbler. No, you sit and relax with your wife, she ordered him. Clement followed her instead. She handed him several small plates of apple cobbler a la mode to carry in to his parents bedroom. The plates were heavy for such a small kid to carry. Mira heaved the gallon of milk out of the fridge and stood alone in the kitchen staring out the window at the snowflakes blowing around and melting as they came into contact with the sharp tree branches and dry grass, fragile things that they were. She thought of her father, sister, and brother at home and wondered if they missed her too, or at least missed the routine of having her there with them on this day every year. She thought of Frank out under the sky, under the tree, in the ground. She worried about Big Lou burying himself under the weight of his own sorrow, and winced with embarrassment recalling his proposition. Clement came back to the kitchen for more plates of cobbler, and together they carried four more to the bedroom. Lloyd and Haley were slunk low in their chairs, silenced by full bellies. Instead of stuffing in dessert, Lloyd regaled them with a story from his days as a marine- about the night he traveled almost a thousand miles, by various means, to be with his family on Thanksgiving. He had been in boot camp, his first experience away from home, and was given only thirty-six hours leave. Yep. I basically ate supper with my folks and your Uncle Tom, he said directing the story at his children. Your Aunt Tonyan her

husband Dominic, you member him? Yep, we basically ate, hugged My mama fixed me up a nice bag of sandwiches, then everybody piled into our Buick; Had this great big ol Buick at the time And took me right back on down to the bus station. Yep. The same night? Haley said with ice cream on her chin. Hell yes, that same night. Had to be back there by the next day. That was the rules, and back then you didnt just break emTheyd send you to the brig if you did. But I dont think my faimlyd any idea the trouble I'd gone to for that dinner. He stared at his lap; His mother and brother Tom, both gone now. Was worth it though. His voice faltered at the end and everyone sat quietly waiting for it to pass. Haley threw her hand over her head. Was worth it to go for a whole night for one dinner and then another whole night riding back after that? Hell yes it was worth it. He looked angry with her for saying it. He was glad at that moment for his ability to hide emotions behind an angry face. Then he softened. Kiddo, when things come easy- you dont want em as bad as you do if you have to wish and pray for em Someday maybe youll find that out. I hope you do. But, it aint a easy lesson to learn- how to appreciate. Means you gotta go through some difficulties. Best damn Thanksgiving I ever had Better than now? Haley put her hands on her hips in mock disapproval. Hell yes. Best one just cause I wanted it so bad. Kitty rubbed her belly.

I dont want to go through difficulties, Haley whined but was interrupted at her mothers urging to collect the empty cobbler plates. Ruthy and Clement went off to play Go Fish, which they had been enjoying a lot of since the weather had gotten cold. When Mira stood up to go to the kitchen Kitty grabbed her sleeve. No Honey, she said. You already done so much. You practically made that dinner by yourself. I had a lot of help from your family. Plus, I wouldnt have had a clue what I was doing without you calling out directions anyway, believe me I cant cook at all. Kitty cued her husband, Lloyd would you mind fixing us some tea? Hes real good at that. She shooed him off with a double-flick of her arm from the elbow down. Now, sit with me here a minute. Mira took Lloyds still-warm seat next to Kitty. I wanted to thank you, Kitty said quietly holding Miras dry hand in her moist one. Sorry, but Im real emotional these days. She swallowed. I know what you asked Haley to do Shes teaching me you know? I just never thought she could do something like that. Its really given us somethingher and me, I mean. Mostly me, but her too I think. I just am so glad shes got to know you. . Shes very smart. Miras neck felt hot. Both of them are, your kids. Thank you, Kitty said again, this time with pools gathering in her eyes. She felt around on the night table for a thin book. One fish two fish red fish blue fish She read and pointed to each word as she said it. Then she laughed brightly, Its for kidsbut the

fact that I will be able to read this to my child stead of the other way around this time... She finished her thought by shaking her head, marveling in her newfound ability to unravel those simple words. Guess mostly what I needed was to take the time. Be able to take the time. Have someone to take the time with me, that is. Everyone had seconds of cobbler which had been purchased from one of the church bake sales. The Christians of Vanishing River had been baking for Jesus. Theyd also been making crafts, holding rummage sales, and running in jog-a-thons for Jesus. The sight of a roll of raffle tickets in the distance meant that one should go the other direction if one did not want to make a purchase. They were raffling off things no one would otherwise buy. One woman was selling crocheted hats incorporating soda cans. Another man was charging high-art prices for leather panels with bible verses burned into them. The members of the Kingdom of Heaven Church were selling things like magazine subscriptions and chocolate almond bars to anyone with a single in their wallet. No one was willing to keep a low profile on the subject of the casino versus the new church. Everyone had an opinion, and neutral is not considered an acceptable position. In the kitchen Mira asked Lloyd Do you understand this whole business? I mean isnt there some way for the Indians to claim the land if its really theirs in the first place? I thought there were laws about this. Its different in some places I guess, but out here we got Rancherias. If it was declared a reservation way-back-when then it would be considered Indian Country now.

Which is usually the worst land, thoughnot the nicest like Franks. Right. Willy told me about that big lawsuit in the 70s where a bunch of tribes in California sued to get their land back. Why couldnt they have gotten it back then? Well that was bout sixteen tribes I think. But you know, the government dont want to make it too easy. These guys here werent even no tribe back that time. Who knows why they didnt get it. But now these Indian lands can be taken into trust, they call it, by the BIA or the tribe their selves, or even a person representing a tribe. Its a lot a legal stuff after that, but they can get it back and use it for whatever they want. Thats how I understood it. What do you want to see happen with the land? Im a member of the church and all and then he whispered. But, Id like to see them Indians get it. I like it just fine the way it is, no development or anything. Be all right with me if they got it and left it that way. I dont think we really need a new church all that bad. Even if we did, whys it got to be right there? You know? They ought to go off and pick somewhere else. What about a casino? What if it comes down to a casino or a church? Lloyds smile escalated. What do you think? Whatd be your pick, Mira? You tell me. Actually, I wouldnt like either. Maybe somewhere to shop? Thatd be good. I dont know. Im not going to be here long though, so my opinion is just not whatever.

But which one? Lloyd cocked his head at her. A casino then, she added decisively. What about you? Dont share this with nobody, but you and me is in agreement.

After Go Fish and more dessert, Mira put in a call to her family who was now preparing for their semi-traditional Thanksgiving stroll around the neighborhood with the family dog, a surly pug named Terrance. Holidays at home were not the same since Mira's mother died, but usually they all tried to make the best of it. Her aunts and uncles and cousins joined them and everyone ate quite a lot and drank quite a lot now that the party was all over twenty-one, or maybe its just because things are different now. Alcohol literally brought a whole new flavor to the old event and Mira could tell when she called that there had been imbibing. In the background she heard the voices of their neighbors, the Redburtons. In fact it sounded to Mira like a party, and she imagined everyone bundled in bright sweaters for the walk, enjoying them selves plenty without her. She imagined the smell of spiced cider bubbling on the stove and heard the dog waiting anxiously by the door for the walk he had probably been promised hours earlier. Terrance was the type of dog who lived among humans as if he was their equal. Once, when the family went on vacation and left him in the care of a kindly neighbor, Terrance left. He went off they assumed, to live the bachelor life in the woods behind the house. The neighbor was bereft- sure Terrance had been killed, if not by a car then by an

animal with a taste for easy meat. A week after Miras family returned, so did the dogseveral pounds lighter, but otherwise fine. Now days he sticks around, insistent on wet food and belly rubs in the morning, scratches behind the ears in the afternoon, and at night if hes in the mood, he likes not to be disturbed while he humps the aged leather footrest in the den. He also requires a daily stroll down the lanes of his neighborhood, and it is a requirement of that walk that he has ample time to mark all of the important tree trunks along the route. Sniffing is not as important to this dog as is marking. Miras phone call that night was short, with her fathers tipsy promises of more time spent on a less hectic evening, which was fine by her. Now all she wanted to do was slink into her bed with the inevitable guilty fantasies of Alfonso floating around in her mind like smoke on the night wind. Her windows facing the meadow usually had the curtains pulled back. It was such a beautiful view she never bothered to close them. That night the moon was so bright, she could see the pasture as she lay in bed. Looking out, she saw for the first time a coyote not far from her house, though she had on occasion heard them howling in the hills. This coyote was larger than she thought coyotes were; and disheveled, but still majestic. It was so impressive that she studied the animal as it trotted across the field. It didnt seem to be searching for prey, but it was going somewhere specific and the only time it paused it seemed to look in the window directly at Mira. In this room she was the voyeur. That was the way she liked it. He must have seen his reflection in one of the window panes

and thought he was another coyote.

The next morning the air was smokier than usual. Mira noticed Lloyd stacking in a cord of wood near his house. You already got a fire going? she asked him. He looked up confused. Naw, he said and kept stacking. Must be a grass fire somewhere, she added. Lloyd looked up again, his arms weighed down with a large section of log. House burned down last night. Indian fella you know, Big Lou." What? Mira felt like choking on the smoke. Big Lou? Theyre calling it a lightning strike, Lloyd explained. But wasnt no lightening last night. Miras shock must have been evident, because he added. You didnt hear no sirens? Time they got there, place was pretty much to the ground. Had it so full of wood and varnish and what-not, I hear. Miras hands were shaking. Dont know if he got out fast enough. Mira took her camera and rode over to where there was now only a scorched cement foundation and the melted remains of a truck. Piles of ash were still smoldering. She covered her mouth for the horror. A few other people stood near the ashes. People like to witness tragedy. And she suddenly wondered if she was any different. Is he okay? Mira asked the two strangers.

They were both men. One of them looked back at her. Be better off if he werent. People round here dont like thieves and murderers. She went silent. Go fuck yourself. She didnt say it. I have to say something to that shit. There was no time to think it through. Maybe you two did this. Came back to see your, your handi-work. As she had come to that second sentence she wondered, What could they do? Hit me? Well, yes. They could. You better shut your mouth, bitch. You dont go round here accusing people of things they aint done. Oh the irony, you dumb fuck! Ive already text-messaged your license plate number to the police. She was shaking. The way the men laughed at her made her feel sick. Aint no police going to prosecute no bolt of lightning, spit the other man. You look like a retarded mole. There was no lightning. Arguing with these guys was futile. The cops know that. Again they laughed at her. This Indian a friend of yours? the retarded mole asked. Mira said nothing. What makes you so sure he aint done this to himself? You dont burn down your own house when its the only thing youve got, she felt emotion stirring in her. It would have been the worst if she had cried in front of them. She wanted to humble them and make them get into their car and leave that minute, but it

was she who felt like leaving. She watched as they wandered away from her to pick through the ashes. She thought she knew where he would be. She rode her bike directly to the roundhouse on Franks land, where she found Big Lou wrapped in a blanket with a box of papers in front of him. His face and arms were smeared with dirt, instead of soot. Youre ok, she exhaled relief. Thank God. Im so so sorry about your house. My God, there was nothing. Nothing left! I got this. He pointed to the box. Do you have anywhere you can go? Where you can stay? This is my home now. How did you get here? How did you get out? I smelled smoke, he explained. Under my feet it was hot. I climbed out the second story window. Grabbed on to my tree. From the box he pulled a handful of photographs. Proof that we were here. Proof of my peoples past. Mira took the stack from his hand. On top was a picture of an old Indian with a sack over one shoulder and a dirty self-made hat pulled down to the eyebrows. Thats Walker he explained, his voice like leather. He was a brother to my daddy. He was from the old guard. Not many people left remember him. A good man of honor; poor as a crow. The next snapshot was of a wide-faced woman with straight black hair, cropped

close to the head and skin almost as dark. She stood next to two men, one of them Walker. Thats Mary. She was no lady; a tough Indian who belonged to this land. It was the only thing she belonged to here because people treated her like dirt. Now shes buried in it out there. He pointed to the meadow with three fingers. They were interrupted when some women from his tribe appeared in the doorway of the roundhouse. They ignored Mira. Youre out of that place now, one of them said resolutely. There were demons in there. Two of the women pulled a cot into the shelter. Its going to be all right, one of them reassured Big Lou. Mira figured she could go back to Franks and get some sheets and blankets to bring back. But then one of the tribeswomen carried in a stack of wool blankets with pillows on top. All Mira could do was get out of her way.

She worked diligently the rest of the week and got every remaining box of prints and proof sheets, including many with notes by Frank in the margins. Every piece of photographic work she could find among Franks belongings had now been cataloged and shipped to the museum. The occasion was worthy of celebration, but instead she went outside for a walk. She had been taking the trails above town regularly, and even the steepest ones went quickly. Unlike when she sat still, Mira never felt lonely when she was walking. It was time she took to reassure herself.

Back at home she pulled out the pictures of her family and friends and poured herself a glass of wine. On her counter by the kitchen she laid out each portrait, most of them either torn or scratched, plus a few scraps of ornate wallpaper, a turn-of-the-century pamphlet with line drawings of a chandelier, champagne glasses, and furniture. She had a snapshot of two tumbling dachshunds she found in Franks things. There were flowers she had pressed to send home to Art or her sister, which were now added to the pile of pasteables. Poised to create a collage, she was as happy as she had ever felt in her life. This is a perfect evening. That knowledge, and the warmth collecting in her, caused such a shiver of delight that she had to slap lightly at the smile on her cheeks. She pulled her hair back and pushed her sleeves past her elbows. With a pair of scissors, a glue stick, and four National Public Radio programs- one after another, she worked. The hardest part was cutting the people away from their backgrounds. Some of them were more reluctant to part from their surroundings than others. From those backgrounds she was able to preserve pictures of a vase, a telephone, a stack of decorative pillows, and half a bookshelf- all of which she added to the mix. So engrossed in her project, she nearly forgot she was not actually with these people as she placed their images around an interior view she had created on a large piece of cardboard backing. It took time to carefully adhere their visages to drawings of chairs, and ottomans- even pasting her friend Lisa on top of a coffee table- one foot up, in a high kick. Some of the characters held hors de oeuvres, or sipped cocktails next to an illustration of a fireplace. It was such a lively and pleasant party- she had to smile when she

looked at it. That night, her fingers rough with glue, she went to meet Jo at the saloon, but Jo never showed up. Mira sat at the bar, decorated with pine boughs strung with Christmas lights and red bows tied every few feet. Because of this, for once during the year, the room smelled like something other than the bottom of a beer glass. Next to her at the bar were two old men whod had so much to drink they no longer cared, if they cared in the first place, who overheard their conversation. It went like this: Old man with hat: I just need it a little these days. I dont know whats gotten inta me. Maybe I just want to try out this sample pack of Vee-agra I got. He very nearly shouted the word Viagra, as if it were a come-on. Its put ideas in this old head. Old man with bolo tie: You been to one of these church dances on Saturday night? Old man with hat: No. Wont get laid after some church dance. Old man with hat laughed, threw his head back, Oh, ho, ho, ho! My friend you couldnt be more mistaken. These dances are full of ladies whose husbands have died and they got nothing better to do on a weekend. Old man with bolo tie looked serious and asked, Dont want no old ladies You got experience to back this up? Old man with hat smiled furtively. He could present proof if necessary. All

you do is pick out the lady you like, make sure she aint there with some other old guy, then you ask her to dance to one of them slow songs. You dance? Old man with bolo tie leaned in, Dance? You kiddin? I used to sweep em off their feet. I could do the whole bit. Used to swing em around, dip em, twirl em, you name it. Bet I still could. Been a while though! He punched the other man lightly on the shoulder. You know what they called me in college? Old man with hat, Asshole? Old man with bolo tie, Very funnyIt was Two-step Ted. Old man with hat, Well, then Asshole. Looks like you got it made.

Mira had almost finished her beer. She tilted the last bit of foam into her mouth and leaned toward the men. Make sure you always tell her how pretty she looks... Even if shes not as pretty as she used to be Its the humane thing to do. The men stared at her astonished. Old man with hat, You see! She knows what Im talking about. Them ladies is lonely, and they aint so bad most of em. They already made their peace with God, now they just want a man sleeping next to em now and again. Dont care so much who it is I guess. He-heh. Them ladies is all dried up like prunes. Look at you. You looked in a mirror lately? Old man with bolo tie scratched his white-bearded chin as if he was having a

pleasant realization. So, you dont say Go for the homely ones, but make sure and call em pretty, right? Mira scoffed audibly; nothing but a wet sound. No aiming low! his friend protested. No point in that. Just notice someone you like and see what happens from there. These church dances, Im telling you, are a gold mine of women, all gathered in one place, just hoping somethingll happen.

That evening lying in bed, Mira saw the coyote again, and he was hunting, she was sure of it. She watched him lunge at a target twice, probably a rabbit or a field mouse. It seemed that he had taken up residence in the pasture.

Chapter 29
When someone looks at one of my photographs I want it to touch all their senses. I want them to feel the gust of wind that blew the mans hat off or the gentle breeze that moved the

curtains. They can almost hear the music the lovers were dancing to or even be able to draw a memory of what the day in the photo smelled like. --Marsha Cairo

Kittys baby was considered fully developed, but there was still almost a month before the delivery date. She had been reading childrens books out loud most of the day, and had delved into things like the TV Guide and Agricultural Times; Magazines her husband subscribed to. But, she was restless most of the time. Got to keep the blood flowing, she uttered defensively as she crept past the doorway to the kitchen where Mira was making lunch for Ruthy and the kids. With the exception of the storage shed, Mira had finished her work of cataloging Franks photographs and shipping them to New York. She was worried the shed may not contain anything of use to her even if she had the key. The corrugated fortress of tin was her last remaining obstacle out of Vanishing River before she feared she herself became part of its beautiful, but weathered landscape. The search for that key now became her fixation. The lock was unique, and may have been custom made; the key for it should be easily recognizable. There were some keys in the house, but she was looking for a particular type; the short and slim, but complicated kind. Every single drawer, every hook holding dangling objects, every dusty corner of every bookshelf, every jar of change, every plastic tack box of fishing lures, every old

chipped mug full of golf tees and change, every wreaking cigar box, tiny cedar chest, shoebox, teapot, Indian basket, clay pot, leather coin purse, suit jacket pocket, every single Nike, Rockport, and Sperry topsider. Even a loose brick on the patio became part of her obsessive investigation. She turned up a few smallish keys, but none of them fit. Lloyd informed her that it would be very hard to bust through one of the sheds walls because they were lined with cement. May as well go back to the sawing. Can we dig a hole underneath and come up through the floor? Mira walked out to the field in the direction of the old oak, under which her onceto-be mentor was laying in rest. Her jacket zipped up to her chin, a muted red scarf tucked around her neck, and a pair of mens leather gloves plucked from the aptly named compartment in Franks truck. She asked herself where she would hide a key she didnt want anyone to find. Her answer came back a rather discouraging one. If I wanted a key to be hidden forever and I lived out here, I would dig a tiny little hole in some remote gully drop it in and cover it with dirt, which would mean it would never be found and would eventually deteriorate and be lost forever. Ill have to hire a bulldozer, she muttered to herself. Near Franks headstone in the grass Mira sat on top of where his shoulders would be. Frank, She stated, Ive tried, you know. Ive been good, too. Ive been respectful. Ive been dedicated. Shit, even when I didnt want to. Now damnit, where is it? she demanded of the headstone; imploring as if she might receive an answer from the ground.

Where the hell did you put it? She snapped off handfuls of grass and threw it against the tree trunk. Where? she waited for a heavenly voice, but there was no sound even to imagine a voice in, as only a few bursts of wind were cut silently by the bare tree branches. She slammed the side of her fist against the spongy ground. What do you have in there? Should I even bother? Clouds were beginning to seep around the hills in the distance, filling in their crevices. Foggy masses of condensation stuck to the trees and the chaparral, illuminated by the early evening sun- which on its descent, is blocked by those very clouds floating low over the hills like ghosts. From her pocket she pulled a silver flask that had been Franks. She had filled it with some of his best scotch. The woody liquor wafted from the neck into Miras nostrils, causing her to wince at its sharpness. We never had a drink together Mr. Bafflehaus, so I thought we might do that now. After sipping from the top, she dribbled some of the liquor in front of the headstone. It tasted surprisingly good, so she sat on her ankles facing the wind, drinking slowly as she watched the clouds march across the meadow. It took them about half an hour to arrive, moist and chilly, at this tree with two people underneath it. Shed drunk more than she planned to before having to walk home. In fact the flask was now empty and she could not recall if she had filled it all the way to the top or not. Stumbling occasionally she kept her steps like those of a toddler, for stretches at a time, and still made it back before it was completely dark out. The Conlons truck wasnt in the

parking area and there was no answer at the door when she knocked. At her own door she found a note written on the back of a used envelope sticking half-out from under the mat. It read We went to hospital -Lloyd She had to calm herself to figure out what she ought to do next. Inside she collected her purse and keys. Guess I better go. See if I can get the kids. Hurrying out to the parking area she was is startled to see the little girl in the gingham dress playing in front of the barn. She retreated and locked her door. From the window near her bed she watched the girl bounce a ball up against the barn door. She knew the girl really was there because the flood light went on when she moved in front of its sensor. The girl was athletically lunging in every direction. Her steps seemed so large; Too large, like windblown leaps. She watched Mira come out and then retreat. The girl now occasionally glanced over at Mira in the window. Once or twice the girl disappeared and then reappeared bouncing the ball on another wall of the barn. Mira thought anxiously of Kitty in the hospital. Hell with it. The girl was still bouncing the ball against the barn, rattling the planks that barely held together as it was. Shes not a fucking ghost. Mira stepped outside boldly and immediately noticed with some relief that the girl had gone. See what happens when you face your fears? Could have been a story for Art. He would have appreciated that. He would say, You see? Face those fears. Conquer them! Girl ghosts- phooey. Fucking phooey, yo. Striding toward the truck, she looked up with a flash of horror. The girl was behind the wheel staring at her. Mira jumped backward. The ball was nowhere in site. The

girl sat low in the seat pretending to steer as Mira stepped backward onto her porch. Fucking scotch. Inside she passed out and did not awake until midnight; sober and hungry, her head splitting. She made it to the hospital- two towns and thirty windy miles away. Clement was asleep under a hospital blanket on a waiting-room chair. She joined him on the hard plastic meant to conform to the average 1960s human body, and she dreamed feverishly: Seeing herself in the parking area again looking in the car at the girl wearing a necklace made of ribbons braided together and strung through a shiny pendent. Looking closer in the dream, Mira saw that the pendant was a key: A small, odd, thin key; It was the shape of France. She was not actually sure exactly what shape France was, but in the dream she knew this was France. She opened the trucks door. The girl stayed there, but her key-necklace disappeared. The gingham girl laughed and flew out of the car and up into to the sky, taking with her Miras breath, thereby waking her suddenly to Lloyd tapping on her shoulder. Snother false alarm, Lloyd whispered, his cheeks pomegranate. Yep, was a close call though. They gonna to keep her here another night. Monitor her for a while. Mira hugged him. Dont worry. But she knew he must. Baby could safely come any time though. He roused Clement, Ruthy, and Haley. Everyone left the hospital with eyes at half-mast.

Mira was thinking about Christmas and that she ought to stay and help Lloyd with

the kids and Ruthy; but she was afraid her family back home would be too disappointed if she wasnt there to celebrate with them. She deliberated her approach to the discussion all the way up Cell Mountain. Dadll be beside himself if Im not there. By the time she reached the top she was sick with anxiety about the call. Sitting on her dialing stump, she tried her dads number. Instead of their normal conversation beginning with updates and progressing to random anecdotes, he surprised her with news. I hope youre not upsetYour brother and I are going to spend Christmas in England, with your Uncle. Havent seen him in years. Your sister would like to spend it with Heaths family, you know the big to-do they always have. Theyve been begging their future daughter-in-law to take part for the past few years. I just figured since youre not going to be here, it might be a good idea for us all to get out of the house this year. Dad! I never specifically said I wouldnt be there! Mir, were all just You dont understand! Im trying to be there. Im trying so hard to be there! God! Im really working my ass offjust to be there. Well, you justMir, its in two weeks. Martins looking forward to us, your brother and me. Didnt I mention this in the last email I sent you? You did not mention it I know because I read them very carefully. Sometimes several times. Oh well I apologize. I could have sworn you told me there was a family or a

guy or someone you were planning to stay there with. Nope. Mira had said that, in passing and not definitively, but now she felt too rejected to admit it. She sat quietly letting her dad feel sorry. Its going to be a guys Christmas this year, I guess, he went on. I hope youre not too disappointed. Itd be a long way for you to come, then just to go back anyway. Im planning to be finished here by then Not coming back when Im finished. Im disappointed, Dad I thought you would this just sucks. Im sorry. Well miss you. I miss you every day youre not around here. The line was quiet. Miss you too, she admitted to him. Plus, your brother needs an adventure; So do I. We havent been out of the country for years. Youre over there having your adventure. We need one too. This is not an adventure, Dad. Its work. Youre missing out not coming out here though. Is that an invitation? Of course! Well, we might yet. Nah, Ill be home before you guysll be ready to fly off anywhere again. Maybe so. I just dont think of this podunk place like an adventure or whatever. Sucks here.

You going to be okay? What about that guy you mentioned? NoguyDad. It was one word. She took a deep breath. But the family who caretakes this place, the kids Ive mentioned and stuff, they really want me to stay over during the holiday anyway. The mothers been put on bed rest for her pregnancy, so that she doesnt go into early labor, so they really need me here I guess. Well, that sounds fine. I'm sure theyre glad for your help. Dad, can I ask you something odd? Actually I'm surprised we haven't discussed this. Maybe we have. Do you uh, believe in ghosts? Ghosts? Mira chewed the corner of the nail of her middle finger. Uh huh. He paused. Yes. His voice had gone a little deeper. Have you ever seen one? He paused again. Not that I know of. Oh. But you think you could. You? Maybe. I might have. I mean, I might have seen one. Thats actually why I asked. I dont know if I believe that sort of thing, but I guess there must be some things Ive seen I cant explain. I dont know. Maybe its being here. People there believe in ghosts? Some of them, I think. Like anywhere probably.

Maybe ghosts like to hang out where they feel accepted. She could tell he was smiling, and she smiled then too. Youre probably right.

With Christmas so near, there were daily solicitations from the members of the Kingdom of Heaven: greeting cards, divinity, fudge, gingerbread cookies, holly, tree ornaments. A woman and a girl came to Miras door hocking doll heads crocheted to hoop skirts that sit over a toilet paper roll on the back of the toilet. (Mira bought one of those for Lisa.) Yet, in all the churchs work, they were still being outbid by hundreds of thousands of dollars by the Southern Californian Indian Tribunal. To Mira, her family seemed farther away than they had before. At this time of year it was strange to be so isolated from the people with whom youve spent every single holiday since you were born. Her epochal loneliness had begun to take hold; She would have to conduct her holiday without them. The challenge would be in enjoying it. Finally she realized that part would be up to her. And its not just her holiday; but, everything. Now she would be operating under her own directive. Had in fact been doing that already, but hadnt appreciated it. The expectations everyone else had for her were falling away oneby-one. She didnt know what to expect from herself now that only her own desires mattered.

Mira was invited to a party at Consuelas. The place had been opened up and hung

with wreaths, a collection of sparkling snow globes on the mantle, hand-blown Italian glass ornaments in the tree, brightly painted nutcrackers behind the appetizers on the buffet. The scents of nutmeg and peppermint candy warmed Mira; Her cheeks flush from the cold air she had walked through to get there. She sat down by the fire. After a while she shifted over to make room at the hearth for a pair of older gentlemen who had been standing at the dessert table each with their arm linked around the others waist. From her seat she had been observing them almost exclusively. They told her that they hadnt been to a party in that house in years. Remember the last one? one man asked the other. He touched his collar revealing a gold cross amid a delicate strand of pearls. I cant remember that long ago, the other man responded. Naked people in the pool, he gestured outside. When there was a pool! Directing her attention toward Mira, the hostess approached her guests at the fireplace. Isnt she lovely? Consuela interrupted. One of the men nodded. Samuel, Harold, this is Mira. She was my inspiration for this party. Did you know that? she asked the guests before her. She reminded me of the days when Francis and all of his cronies still gave us a run in this town. She was here to work for him, you know? Did she tell you that? Consuela touched one of the men on the shoulder. We hadnt gotten that far, said the other man who had deep creases in his cheeks that disappeared when he smiled.

Sounds like the party you were just talking about People in the pool, Mira suggested. Consuela laughed, We used to smoke opium and swim Thats before there were neighbors! That was before a lot of things, lady. Francis would sit in that chair over there, one of the men said, pointing. I can remember the women would come in from the pool half-dressed or half-gassed or both, and hed end up taking their picture. I know for a fact he took mine, the mans partner admitted, flirtatiously. We were the original bohemians, Consuela fluttered her false lashes. Before it was considered chic. Francis inspired some wild moments around here, for sure, sighed the man with the necklaces. The three of them looked lost in nostalgia. A poor buck made the mistake of strolling through the field out there, during one of those parties. Remember that? Frank liked to hunt. Did he tell you that? Actually, I never met him, Mira admitted. Never? She shook her head. You never met him? Well, he liked to hunt on occasion, that was pretty well known, and that night he took the challenge to slay the deer; For the meat, right? No gun So whatd he do? I saw him take a sword from that wall, he pointed, You still have those

Connie? No, she said, Those went with Frederico. So, Frank and another guy, dont remember his name, snuck out into the meadow, he continued. And somehow he got that blade in just right. Came back without a drop of blood on him asking for help to drag the animal in for gutting; Said hed learned how to do it from the Indians. Consuela looked appalled, apparently with no memory of the event. We roasted some of it that night, one the men claimed, taking a cigarette out of his breast pocket and lighting it. Venison fresh like that is really delicious. He lit another cigarette off of the first one for Consuela. Come Mira, the old woman ordered, gesturing through a trail of smoke. I havent shown you around. She led Mira into the dining room. Hanging on the wall was a large portrait of herself taken thirty years before. This a Bafflehaus original, she said proudly. I thought you may want to catalog it for the record. Mira could barely recognize Consuela in the picture. Her face was smooth and her lips were so full, she was reminiscent of Bridgette Bardot. She was wearing a beaded flapper dress and thigh high stockings held up with garters, the way most women did back then. She was on her hands and knees atop a bar. The bartender behind her, with a drunken smile- was drying a glass with a towel. Mira studied it. Yes it was Franks work. Wow, was her comment.

Can you believe that was me? Consuelas hand went to her hip. She puffed once. There are other shots Francis took around here. Not everything on the walls are his; but a lot of them. Wander around if you like. Ask me about any picture, I can usually remember who took them or whos in them. They were interrupted by a group of guests and Mira had to squeeze by to get out of the room. Down the hallway, the door into a softly lit den stood open. It was cold in there and the space was tight, but with the wall being covered in a collage of snap-shots she had to go in for a look. Some of the individual pictures were quite small and pealing off their paper backing. Many of them had been cut out around the central figure and were yellowing with age. Most were pictures of women in some of the dresses Mira saw when she first visited this house, yet a lot of them were in dresses more risqu than those. These were party pictures and every pair of lips was painted darkly. Mira began to recognize some of the rooms she had just been in or walked by in the house. There was a mediumsized black and white print of one of the frequently photographed faces on the wall; A tall dark-haired woman with a wide upturned nose and no eyebrows to speak of. In the picture she wears only fishnet stockings and high heels. Nothing at all under the stockings, and her breasts exposed. She also appears rather proud of herself, as if she has just asked to have her picture taken. Next to her with his foot up on a chair is a fully clothed man smoking a cigar. On the desk next to Mira were a couple more small pictures slapped into a poster

frame. They were mostly of the same era, probably the fifties, and all of a pornographic nature. One may have been of Consula, but Mira wasnt sure and didnt feel like pinpointing the truth. The most interesting part to Mira was to see it displayed so haphazardly on a desk of all places, as if its subject were of no concern. She could tell by seeing areas where the cardboard backing of the mat was torn that there had been other pictures with it at some point. She suddenly felt she shouldnt be in that room any more. She slouched back to the hearth to slump in front of burning oak logs and eat some appetizers. She noticed Tark standing next to the appetizers. He was wearing a shirt that had clearly been ironed, as well as a tie. It was the first time Mira had seen him dressed up, and it caused her sit up a little straighter... but not totally straight. She couldnt hold totally straight for very long. He sauntered over. You like em? The meatballs? she mumbled. I made all that food. He turned to look back at his work. You? You should have your own restaurant. I do... You knew that right? The pizza place? No! No? You have a restaurant? Well its not a restaurant yet, but it will be. Its part of the winery Willys getting

started. He bought some old vines just down from you, actually. Tark held a plate loaded with his own appetizers. Ooh. Little meat sandwiches? I didnt see those. Miras eyes must have widened a bit. He sat one of his on her plate. Steak. Youll enjoy that. She sipped her champagne. So Willys got a winery? He does. A recent acquisition I guess you could say. Want to see it? Tarks car was parked in Consulas garage, while everyone else had to park theirs on the street. Mira could smell Armorall under the lingering aromas of the food he had brought over in it. Ever seen a car like this? Classic. No, I havent. Not this nice, anyway. What kind is it? 1967 Pontiac GTO. Its worth like ten times as much as I bought it for. The body of the car sparkled deep plum. The paint was not original he explained, but most of the rest of the car was. I bought it off my uncle a few years back and rebuilt the engine. Oh yeah, I also replaced some of the vinyl because it was pretty much gone; Cracked and rotted; Just gone. This headliner is all new fabric. He touched it with his fingers, rechecking his upholstery job. People usually expect this to be replaced anyway. Dashboard held up though, he said as he pushed on it with his fingers. Im lucky it wasnt cracked. That would have been a major repair. How much did you get it for?

My uncle just wanted to get it out of his barn. Said I could have it if I could drive it out of there. I think I gave him five hundred or so. They both looked around the interior. I always wanted it, you know? Saw it sitting there for years and I knew it was great. The engine rumbled as they backed out of the driveway. Can you hear that? He asked over the roar. What? Can you hear that monster under the hood? Theres a monster tied down under this hood and its trying to get out. Rmmm, rmm, rmm. Mira laughed. It is amazingly loud, thats for sure. I can tell you did a beautiful job. Who taught you to fix cars? He pointed at his chest, proudly. You, she smiled. Thanks by the way for fixing mine. The truck has been running fine. My pleasure. So whered you learn? From manuals and stuff. You can get them on the internet. Cars from the sixties werent as complicated as they are nowNone of that computerized stuff. My latest additionI love this the rims. Did you see them? Um. I... You didnt notice?! He was already pulling the car to the side of the road.

Hes got to be kidding. Get out. Get out! You have to look at these. He grabbed a flashlight from the glove compartment; the heavy door of which dropped on to Miras knees when he opened it. They stood next to the car with its engine thundering. The rims shimmered even in the dark, their lug nuts glimmering like jewels. Look at them! he exclaimed. I got em from a place in Deerborn, Michigan if you can believe it; ebay. Theyre reproductions, but they match the originals per-fect-ly. Theyre really pretty, she complimented him and then took a picture of him crouched next to a back tire. I want a copy of that, he said pointing to the camera. He drove faster than he should have. The winery was further away than he made it sound. They pulled up in front of an old carriage house with metal doors ten feet tall. The place had been converted into a tasting room, and inside were high ceilings and slate-tile floors. Three towering shelves of wine barrels loomed from behind a small bar made of a single solid oak beam. Mira sat in one of the stools and Tark poured from a bottle of his favorite. This is a nice syrah. Good for just drinking, he told her. Dry and a little sweet. See if you can taste a hint of the oak. These are really nice barrels. Theyll improve with age, too. Those are expensive arent they?

Tark shrugged. Not that much I dont think. I heard a radio show about it. These go for like $900 each. Tark turned to look at the number of oaken barrels behind them, at least fifty. I thought they were like a hundred bucks or so. Mira looked askance, but dropped the subject. How is food involved with this place? She sipped, Mmmm. You like that one? he indicated her glass. We open the place up on the weekends and I bring in some things that enhance the flavors of the wines. Like last week I made roast chicken on crusty bread with a little bit of gingered mayonnaise; Also brought in some grilled lemon asparagus spears. We always have a selection of cheese. Finger foods, you know. He lugged out of wheel of cheese that smelled dirty. Miras lip turned up inadvertently. I dont think I want to eat anything. He strode over to plug in the lights on a Christmas tree they had standing a crate in the corner of the tasting room. Crackers? He waved a box of water crackers out in front of him. Whats with that swagger? I think I just want to sit here, she said to him. Consuelas a trip, huh? Yeah. Something weird was going on with a bunch of pictures in her back room. Like what? Sex stuff.

That place was a bordello, did you know? No way! Mira nibbled a cracker, thankfully. Yes it was. Thats what my mom told me. Consuela ran it. Shed bring in beautiful girls from all over. A Madame!? Speaking of beautiful girls. Tark nudged Miras shoulder. So the swagger, after all. They sat quietly. He broke the silence he had himself inspired. Taste something else? No thanks. But the one you poured was really good. Willy made it? Tark nodded, looking as though he would like to kiss her but she was too far across the counter for it to be done gracefully. She was staying where she was. Dance? he offered. Abruptly she didnt feel well. Is there a bathroom? was her answer. Yeah. Ill go get the key. But, when he got up and walked in the other direction she became afraid she couldnt wait that long and rushed outside the carriage house doors into the vineyard. Green grapes that would eventually ripen to purple, hung in clusters from ropey vines. In the moonlight they appeared waxen. She felt a little better in the fresh air.

There you are, he said holding the bathroom key toward her. You ok? I just wanted to see the vines. Get some air. She was sweating and taking slow deep breaths to calm herself. These vines are pretty old. Wont have to wait long for em to mature Tark said, hovering near her. Should I get my keys? She appreciated his height, broad shoulders, thick black hair. He was sudden in his movements, with a boyish and conservative manner; Like a scout. Someone she should like. Realizing her attraction made her uncomfortable in his presence. She didnt want to change how she acted around him, except that she wanted desperately to forget about Alfonso and Art and to see what else there was in the world. Under the stars, and no one except her to care what she did tonight. Somberly she thought, I am alone on the earth, and the realization melted her resistance. She held out her hands. Ok, dance. Out here? She nodded. He took her hands but they didnt dance for long. She put her lips to his cheek, almost without thinking. His head turned slowly toward her. Almost immediately she could feel his tongue in her mouth and she was satisfied with herself for it being there. He is boyish, she thought, but he is not a boy. They leaned

against the side of the carriage house until their legs grew stiff and it no longer made sense to be standing up- outside, in the cold. Shouldnt we go in? he asked cautiously. Maybe we can go home. Home with you? Could I actually say yes? Is it this easy? Did I just ask him? I need to think about this. What did I just ask him? Need to think this through. What will this mean? If I say yes where does it go? Not sure I want to be with Tark. What if Alfonso finds out? What about my foot. What would Art- dont think about him. What would my dad dont think aboutYes, she answered. At her house there was no bothering with the light. In her small bed they wore nothing but socks. Hers were long and pulled up almost to the knee. His were short athletic socks that didnt look clean, but were. As they kissed, she couldnt help imagining that Tark was Alfonso, and so she let herself think it. She helped him with the condom though he probably could have done it himself with one hand. She was nervous at first and didnt orgasm, but was oddly triumphant for having him there at all. She realized she felt little for him though, as he lay next to her, his penis still wrapped in plastic, glistening in his lap like a glowworm. He slept there some of the night, but got up to leave while it was still dark, which she was thankful for. She kissed him when he said good-bye because it seemed rude not to,

but something felt silly about it. Tark was only her friend, and sadly she didnt think they would be friends anymore. This is afterward, she thought, and tucked the blankets around herself tightly, so that she could fall back asleep as quickly as possible.

The next day Mira went foraging for the makings of a Christmas dinner, remembering her mother as she pushed the grocery cart up to the frozen case piled with turkeys. She sent Haley and Clement for two cans of cranberry sauce, and instructed Ruthy to pick out unbaked dinner rolls; These were all the things Miras mother had done in preparation for their familys Christmas dinner. When she saw her hands in front of her hefting an enormous turkey into her cart, those were the hands of her mother. No, wonder I cant cook. Neither could you. She said to the hands, Everything you bought was already made. Whats wrong? Haley asked Mira after she and Clement beat Ruthy back to the cart. Not sure what were going to do with this, meaning the turkey. Haley was certain. Mom will know. They found Ruthy frustrated in the bread isle. Mira pointed to the rolls they needed, but did not reach for them. Tall Ruthy was happy to bring them down and place them in the cart. What was I thinking? I could have just sent her for an onion. The next day they had Christmas around Kittys bed as they had for Thanksgiving;

eating dinner in there, opening presents in there, (which for Mira was a fuzzy green sweater picked out by Lloyd- which she knew she would never wear.) Mira gave each person a framed portrait she had taken of them, and they seemed grateful, even Ruthy. After that they watched The Grinch. It had been a Christmas.

The next morning Mira got serious about opening the shed in the yard. She searched through the bins of nails and screws and bolts in the garage. No key. She converted her search to one for a sledgehammer, a jackhammer, or possibly a battering ram. Instead she found car parts, a Garden Weasel, an ice cream machine, a can crusher, multiple buckets of paint and fertilizer, several moldy boxes of National Geographic magazine, and one box full of Hustler magazines with a copy of National Geographic on the top.

It was inevitable that Kitty would deliver her baby soon. The due date is only days away, and Mira planned to have the shed demolished by then. In the meantime she busied herself with walks that had lately turned into runs, never-ending games of Uno with Clement, and a book called The Seven Habits of Healthy People she found in Franks den. The few days between Christmas and the New Year disappeared and she anticipated a party Bodey had invited her to in a barn on the edge of town. She knew she would be too old for it, but she cared less about that then she used to. It would be better than being home alone. Anyway, Mira figured that he probably only asked so that he could have her sign for a keg

of beer. The plan was that she would not be seen with any party goers whilst picking up the beer, so after two young employees of the liquor mart rolled the keg up the ramp into the back of Franks truck she drove to the pre-identified meeting point where Bodey was waiting to guide them to the abandoned barn all the kids referred to as The Stalls. It was a meander down back roads, around tight corners in the woods to arrive by eight oclock on New Years Eve. Kids had set up dozens of tents, which relieved Mira at first. No one is planning to drive anywhere. Good. I am the supplier, she thought as two boys worked together to tap the keg she and Bodey pulled up with. Kids were swarming in and around the collapsing barn. Mira estimated there to be at least two hundred teens. A fire was burning in a drum by the river and the girls all seemed to be dressed the same way- in skimpy half-shirts and low-cut jeans, so they were huddled around the can of fire like hobos, their hands reflecting its warm glow. Someone had gotten a hold of several cases of beer, and it appeared everyone there had a bottle of some kind in their hand. This celebration, unlike others she had attended in Vanishing River, lacked pomp. With the one exception being a kid in a huge Dr. Seuss hat. The minute they arrived Bodey melted into the crowd leaving Mira instantly out-topasture. When she was in high school she had gone to a few parties of this size, but then she was among peers; tonight she looked more like a chaperone as she paced by herself among the cars, wanting to be playing Scrabble with Alfonso instead, had that been an

option. (And since she was only imagining it anyway, it was not hard to think then how quickly that board game would escalate into less structured play Then the ridiculousness of that fantasy depressed her.) She had only just gotten there and already she was faced with the unstructured play of a couple in the front of seat of a green Datsun 210; A pair of hairy buttocks rose and fell. Walking quickly in the other direction she passed a station wagon with a box of kittens on the tailgate. She killed nearly an hour standing over the befuzzed litter, holding each one until they got squirrelly for their siblings, then she would return it to the jumble for another. Theyre free, said a girl standing nearby. Just tell Michael which one you pick. I cant have one, Mira admitted to the girl, thinking they were about to have a conversation. Im moving. Take it with you! You can have a cat anywhere. Mira shrugged, wishing she didnt soon have to walk away from the kittens and risk looking like a loner. Ill think about it. Im going back to New York. It would be a long flight for a cat. I think maybe they let you take stuff like that on board though now so its something to consider, but I dont know where Im going to be living when I get home so Mira looked up. The girl hadnt been listening.

From there Mira joined a game of darts where the target was hung on a tree. She

lost horribly several times, almost injuring onlookers twice before her spot was mercifully taken from her. She grew shy again with nothing to do and wandered looking for Bodey. The party seemed carnival-like; the roller coaster drive on the way in, a Kama Sutra sideshow in the Datsun 210, a petting zoo in a cardboard box, cheap beer obtained at great cost, a lost companion, and finally losing repeatedly at a game involving a target; Prize-wise she remained empty-handed. And yet, what had she been hoping for at this gathering? Step right up, called a nerdy-fellow wearing glasses that were a few years out of style- with bad skin over decent bone structure. She joined him on a hay bale where he engaged her in a form of conversation which was just a lot of questions that he never waited to hear the answers to before firing off the next one. Who did you come with? Where are you from? Why are you in Vanishing River? What do you think of it here? Do you like it? Are these kids parties fun?; etcetera like this for about half-an-hour. This was the kind of boy who would have also paid attention to Mira in high school, which wasnt saying much. Or maybe it said a lot. Maybe it said a great deal. You think things change, but damnit, they never fucking change. His name was Bartholemew and he was 16. Call me Bart. He was interested in studying ethics at an Ivy League university and wanted her opinion about where he should go, but once she started talking he was off on another tangent. It was almost eleven oclock and Bart had begun to annoy her. Ive got to find my friend, Bart. Thanks. Its been really nice talking to you! Or listening to you, or whatever. He couldnt have really heard the last part, because she was

walking away from him by then. He called to her, Hey, at mid-night if you want to you know ring it in. I mean if youre still here, let me know. Im kinda assessing my options right now. He gestured stiffly like someone dealing a new deck of cards. Assess away, and she allowed her self to be swallowed up in the crowd outside the barn, hoping for her own sake that Bart wouldnt become appealing an hour from then. The New Year came as Mira stared at the glowing hands on her watch and cheered inwardly. A few kids on ecstasy were dancing to music coming from one of the cars. Earlier in the night she had been offered a tab, but declined. From where she sat atop a high rise of hay, she could watch most of the party in the moon glow entering the gaping holes of the barns roof. Her buzz was wearing off and the smell of pot was getting tempting, there was also the smell of vomit from somewhere below which inspired her to leave The Stalls. With Bodey presumably gone, she loaded up the hollow keg by herself, still surprisingly heavy. Bodey was sitting near the river, strumming an acoustic guitar with his fingers. A girl with straight brown hair looked practically glued to him by her fingers, her legs curling off to one side, her chin is on his shoulder. They didnt notice Mira approaching them. So much for I dont dig younger girls. Hi, Mira said, knowing fully that she was interrupting them. Too loudly he said, Were just talking!

Jeez, relax! Abruptly, she could see that she had come up too quickly. Behind the guitar, the girl still held Bodeys tumescent penis in her hand. They quickly shifted and he pushed the guitar hard over his lap. Jesus Christ. Why am I embarrassed? He should be embarrassed. I was just playing her some of my songs! I see that. Im actually going to take off though. So I just wanted to tell you, she turned away. Youll be able to get a ride I assume? She heard herself ask. Get a ride? Thats pretty funny. He nodded, Yeah, I know almost everyone here. You sure youre not stickin around? Its pretty fun in the morning. Were gonna cook-out I just thought youd like that part. His forehead grew slightly glazed as he talked. That does sound fun, but I think I need to get Mira was interrupted by a car rolling slowly in their direction. As people shouted, Bodey and the handsy-girl scrambled out of the cars path just in time for it roll over the blanket they had been on. The guy in the drivers seat was oblivious to the fact that he was headed for the river which formed a deep eddy that ran over rocks before flowing back into the current. In the summer it made a nice place to swim. In the winter, occasionally this area flooded. What the fuck is he doing? Bodey was outraged. Kids from inside and around the barn rushed out in time to see the Ford Taurus wagon scraping over the rocks at the edge of the water dark with algae. There wasnt much

of a splash the way you would expect. The cars front end hit bottom causing the rest of it to bob awkwardly at an angle. People gasped and some of the boys sprinted toward the water. To Mira it all happened at half-speed. Im the only legal adult Ive seen here. Ill be blamed for this. Ill go to jail. These are the choices Ive made! She ran toward the murky water. The cars headlights somehow still worked, illuminating the scene taking place underwater. A girl surfaced in front of the station wagon and began treading water, You werent in park, you ass! she said between giggles. But no one had seen the driver come up yet. Mira found herself praying and reviewing CPR procedures in her head. How many chest compressions before a breath? Wait you dont do the compressions anymore. No, shit, you dont do the breaths anymore!!! I wont know what to do. Then she heard cheers as the boy floundered out of the rear window, gasping. Mira felt the sweat of fear cold on her forehead and lower back. Her armpits prickled. Her ass crack felt like the river. Kids around her were roaring inexplicably with laughter. Oh, thank you God, she thought with her head in her hands. Mira then heard what sounded like air escaping the tires. Something squeaky and high pitched; Six stunned kittens from the box which had been sitting on the tailgate were sent floating. Mira knew there were exactly half-a-dozen, and they were vigorously trying to save themselves by clawing at the overturned and now saturated cardboard. Some of the kids were still laughing as the two who were already in the water managed to scoop out four of the cats, one-by-one onto the bank. She heard someone behind her say, Theyre

just cats. She heard the girl shout "Ouch!" as she was scratched by one of the terrified felines. Mira alone noticed the little gray one and the black one, both missed by the kids in the water because of the way their fur blended with the darkness. Those two kittens were caught in the current and heading for the lip of the pool after which they would be in the river and out of sight. Two more! Two more! Mira screamed frantically, pointing to where the animals seemed to be peeping with less and less gusto. Someone! Mira screamed, running along the bank next to the drowning cats that were now fully taken by the water. In an instant it became obvious to her that she was begging another person, any other person, to do what she should have already done, and so she immersed herself in the numbing water- it stole her breath and made the sharp rocks hurt less to fall over. Frantic for her eyes to focus in the dark, she opened them as wide as their sockets would allow. Her hand seized the gray kitten first but the black one slipped by the tips of her fingers. She could barely tell if it was still above water. Oh God! Come here! she pleaded out loud. The little black one was caught for a moment on a rock, allowing Mira to pinch the end of its tail. She had them both now, and trudged to the edge of the river where a few kids had amassed. She whispered to herself Thank you, and stumbled out of the water. A boy on the bank took the peeping kitten from her hand and wrapped it in a towel. The gray cat, Mira hadnt realized until that moment, lay limp in her other hand. It had been alive when she grabbed it, but now it was lifeless. She must have accidentally submerged it

for a period so short she couldnt recall doing it; a mere fraction of a second. River water streamed from her hair. She had forgotten about being cold. The gray kitten, soaked to reveal its tiny-ness, lay completely motionless. She felt as though she had been stabbed in the stomach. Shameful tears burned down her cheeks. She had no voice to curse herself out loud. Her anguish convulsed into a sob as she held the cold body in her palm. She wanted to turn back time and undo her mistake. Her grief about this, she knew well, would never leave her. Then guided by instinct, desperation, and a few episodes of Animal Rescue, Mira dropped to her knees, brought the kittens muzzle to her mouth and blew. This was the impossible, and she knew it and didnt care. Previously ignored, kids now crowded around her. They want to watch this crazy lady loose her shit. She blew again into the kittens nose and mouth. People like to witness sorrow and desperation. To her surprise on the second or third breath, some of the air did seem to go into the kitten, but nothing else happened. With firm thumbs she compressed its tiny diaphragm three four times, then forced more air into the cats lungs, and again nothing happened. She no longer noticed anything happening around her, and no one tried to intervene. This is useless. But she didnt stop what she was doing. Insane attempts to save a life youve ended using a pseudo-procedure learned on a TV show! Thats what you have come to. Blow again! Why am I even bothering? Just so I can fail at something else. Just so I can feel even more responsible for killing this cat? What am I even doing here? I dont belong here! Blow again, you mangy woman!

Water bubbled out the cats nose as Mira compressed its body firmly again, and suddenly the kitten was living In her hands, from the breath of her lungs, against what seemed impossible, life had come back to it. The living creature squirmed, moving every limb, and it opened its mouth for a squeak that didnt come. And then it did come and with it- Miras tears.

The kitten slept next to her on the bed all night, breathing more of the same breath that had summoned it back for life number eight, and in the morning it thought of Mira as its mother. She needs a name: Diver, Cousteau, Mermaid? But the kitten herself seemed to like the name Guppy; and so it was.

Chapter 30
Photography is like life What does it all mean? I dont know- but you get an impression, a feeling An impression of walking through the street, walking through the park, walking through life. Im very suspicious of people who say they know what it means. --Leonard Freed

Vanishing River had only received a single day of rain since Mira had been there, which was good for the Indians who had been staying out on the land for several months. Big Lous presence had inspired others, including Tark, who now stayed there on occasion. Legally, they had to occupy the land continually to have a chance at it being considered Indian Country. Members of the Kingdom of Heaven who attended church that Sunday had been inspired as well. During a sermon, Pastor Rubin called the Indians squatters on our holy land, and encouraged parishioners to join prayer groups or to pray alone that the power of God, as he said, would serve them in this, their time of need. We are merely praying for a resolution to this mess, he implored them. In the absence of money we need a miracle to remove those people from our land. It is Gods will and he shall hear our prayers. They

even took their plea online, asking churches around the country to pray along with them. Join hands, Rubin implored, and ask God to expel the Indians from the land that our church is destined to be built upon. Join hands! Pray to God that He does whatever is necessary to secure the future of his followers. When he spoke to the congregation he explained that theyre prayer would have more power if it was collective. Together we can achieve goals that none of us could accomplish on our own. Find out now, when there is a great need that our faith holds might, and right, and our words hold power. Incredible power. Together our thoughts and our prayers can move mountains! Put your power in Gods hands and watch it multiply! Every night that week and the following week they prayed. They prayed all that they could. Small groups gathered in private homes prayed; a large group clustered together in the church on a Wednesday afternoon prayed. Individuals in their recliners at home muted their televisions during the commercials and bowed their heads in silent meditation. After the church choir practice, Pastor Rubin came before them and kneeled in his robes, holding tightly the hands of the followers on either side. Murmurs slipped from his barelyparted lips; Everyone repeated their wishes in their own minds, over and over, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, so help them God. Take the heathens from our soil once and for all. Flush them out however you might. When it happens it must be Gods will. Let them be dispelled forever and finally.

On a Friday evening, Mira could smell the storm. When the power went out she tuned the short wave radio in Franks den to the National Weather Service station. The reporter explained how a moist convection cell which had been sitting in the valley was being pushed up into the sierras. From the window, it appeared to Mira as an aberration against the mountain sky. She watched as the thunderhead coagulated in heavy clots that blotted out the sunset over Vanishing River. Praise the Lord, and the sky grew dark. People outside their homes jogged indoors while covering their heads with newspapers or the backs of their shirts. Praise Jesus! And the first drops of rain caught adrift on the wind, moistening car windshields and dampening hats. Let us take our land, dear Lord Jesus. And the drops fell heavy unto them, and the wind swirled about the tops of trees. Big Lou and his group hurried to carry supplies into tents and tie tarps over the generators theyd been running to chill food and have light. Let our destiny be realized, dear Holy Father. And thunder clapped so loudly that it set off car alarms and dogs hackles. Birds fluttered under eaves for cover. Lord, hear our prayers, and lightening smote the hills surrounding Vanishing River, singeing the crests of the tallest sequoias several miles away. Dear Father, let us serve you here on Earth. Save our town from the wages of sin, we beg of you, oh Lord, hear our prayers! The winds kicked up to perilous speeds, followed by rain that came down in a silver curtain. In every direction, the ground turned into a flood plain. Big Lou disconnected

the generators and tried to help everyone he could into tents that were fixed to the ground, and that would soon have rivers flowing right through them. He directed the stockpile of supplies to be put high up on blocks or in the crotches of trees. His socks and shoes were filled with water, his hair was matted over his eyes, his clothes were plastered to his goose-pimpled skin. He was exhilarated; a leader to his people, bravely running from tent to tent insuring the safety of his friends.

Displacing Guppy, Mira crawled out from under her comforter and shut off her Itty-Bitty Book Light. In the back of her throat she detected the metallic taste of an electrical storm. The force of the rain sounded as though it could crack her windows, and it was surely pulverizing the delicate spiders on the outside of the glass that had spent days constructing webs they expected to last them a while. Lightening and thunder went off simultaneously. The next crash resulted in an unprecedented effluvia all over town, as if there were competing thunderstorms converging above them. Mira gasped and looked outside- expecting to see an answer to the torrents washing down her roof and across her porch. Instinctively she went to the center of the room afraid the building might implode or float away. After another clap of thunder and a flashbulb of lightening, the air pressure dropped and Miras ears popped as a great vacuum moved over the house. Were in a gully. All the water from these hills is coming our way. Anyone out on the land at this

moment is in terrible danger. She knew it as if she had been told. She knew it with the force of adrenaline that got her in her boots and jacket, though neither was waterproof or even sturdy for that matter. Staying safe inside would have been cowardly. She held a flashlight like a bat and stalked out into the rain. The wind forced her sideways and pelted her until her coat was sopped and heavy. She trudged through the waves as if she were wading across a shallow lake, its current pushing and pulling her in different directions. Surprised at how clearly she could see, even in the dark, that there were whitecaps on the meadow. The Miwok campers were in water above the knee- and rising, holding on to tents unmoored and adrift. My God, she said, horrified. Theyre all still out here. Straining against the force of the wind, she approached the chaotic gathering with strain, stumbling over downed tree limbs hidden just under the surface of the water. Planks from the roundhouse floated in circles like toothpicks. She heard a womans scream, but the voice was a thin chime over the roar of battering rain and near constant thunder. She could see Big Lou trying to help the others find higher ground when at that moment there didnt seem to be any; Each person scrambled for protection, but with no place to retreat, like ants in a bathtub. The roof of the old church had been sucked off its frame and spit into the sky. It bobbed next to the group. Guided intermittently by incandescent lightening strikes, Big Lou climbed atop the roof ridge and began trying to pull people from the deluge. Herself

clinging to a tree branch, Mira watched in ultimate horror as a bolt of lightening found Big Lou. The electricity, white and somehow solid went straight toward her friend as if he were a magnet to its energy. It held him chest-first and slightly off the ground for what seemed like seconds. He was being lifted out of his shoes. His face appeared calm, perhaps stricken. And no one dared touch him. His body shook in spasms before the energy exited his hands. It was Mira who was first to swim toward the church roof, screaming so loudly for help that it tore something in her larynx, and she could taste the blood. Her voice would be ruined for days. There was no grip in his hands and a thin red stream trickled from his left ear and disappeared in the water around them. His eyes were open but without a flicker of life. He did have a weak pulse and she held tightly to him as they drifted toward Tarks pickup. Several people helped her pull his body into the bed of the truck, which at that point barely cleared the high-water mark. An ambulance would never make it in time. Mira knew it was probably too late for that already, but she didnt let go of Big Lou, and held on to his stiffening body in the back of the truck as Tark sped them along roads that were barely passable in good weather. If not for Big Lous weight as an anchor, Mira counted at least six times she would have been thrown from the bed of the truck. It didnt usually take very long to get to the next town, but out there in the rain and lightning it felt like hours. Twice she vomited into the water sloshing around them. Her exhausted arm muscles charley-horsed as she held on

to her dying friend. She was careful not to touch his palms or the bottoms of his feet, which were black; burned where the voltage left his body. For all her efforts, she wished that the energy in her grip could save him from dying. In the hospital waiting room where days earlier Mira had dreamt next to Clement, she now stood alert, soaked and shivering fiercely. The doctors wheeled Big Lou away on a gurney. His vitals are weak the nurse explained, but at least we got numbers. The looks on the nurses faces held little hope for her friends recovery. Were doing all we can for him, is all she and Tark were told, and for that they waited hours. Finally, hearing that the storm had dissipated, they drove away from the emergency room on paved roads, back to town, where many people awaited news of the heros condition. Tark left Mira at her doorstep after she had declined his offer of comfort. With word that Big Lou was unlikely to make it, Pastor Rubin audaciously took credit (rather he gave it to his followers) for the tempest, which had passed. He claimed responsibility so hastily that in the morning, the meteorologists opinions were all but ignored; God has punished the disbelievers who sought to undermine His authority. We can see that He has dealt justly with the sinner who earned his wrath by stepping over to where he was not welcome. God has struck down a sinner of grand proportions. You see now that your prayers are worth more than all of the Devils money in all the casinos in this country. Our prayers are worth more than all the gold under that or any church. The people listened to Rubin with reverence and alarm. They were believers, and

that night the Lord had given them their miracle. After the flood, attendance at the Kingdom of Heaven tripled for a month of Sundays.

Chapter 31
Im not a collector at heart. Im never tormented by the longing to possess things. Im quite happy with my pictures. Ive been cohabitating with them for years now and we know each other inside out, so I feel Im entitled to say that pictures have a life and a character of their own. Maybe theyre like plants, they wont really flourish unless you talk to them. I havent gone that far- not yet anyway. Lots of them behave like good little girls and give me a nice smile whenever I walk past, but others are real bitches and never miss an opportunity to ruin my life. I handle them with kid gloves.

--Robert Doiseau

They were keeping Big Lou in a narcotic coma so that his brain would have a chance to heal. His doctors were reluctant to make predictions based on his condition. Walking alone on the trails above town, Mira remembered a conversation she had with him once when they were walking together. She had admitted to feeling at times weighed down by her life; in anguish when there hadnt seemed to be anything wrong. Your brain is an office, he told her. It holds a lot of junk stacked up; Current junk, past junk. Both have to conduct business anyway though, in spite of the junk piled up; A messy office cant run smoothly. I worked in an office before. You ever worked in an office? He went on, For me it was too much time filing papers for a disorganized repair company. But anyway, you have a messy office in your head, Mira. All these old wounds youre nursing are the unfinished business. See? Theyre the paperwork lying around. It all has to do with events youve never processed and filed away. Youve just left them lying out in chaos. What you need to do is the same thing you do when you clean out your desk, or Franks desk. As they walked they took careful steps along a ridge. In this case you cant just hire someone to do it for you, like that place hired me, he said. You are the only one who works there. Theres no other way, and its a big task let me tell you. But those are

important documents you have scattered around and you cant just throw them out. They make you who you are. You know? You work through the stacks and youll find old stuff underneath that you want, that you forgot you had. But first you have to go through all those folders of loose sheets, and stapled packets. They need to be closed out and filed. Do you see? He went on, You pick up one of those sheets and see what youve got to deal with On such and such a day, in such and such a year, So-and-so said the following to Mira Dillen You know? Like for example on New Years last year, Art Whateverhisnameis broke Miras heart after he did whatever it was he did. Hes an asshole by the way, pardon me. But, read about what happened, youll remember. Then decide where youll put it. Youre brain could be a law office. That would make sense, see? Signing off on a resolution is mandatory for any clean-up. 'Forgiven?' 'Not-yet forgiven?' See? You cant just say, Well, Im not sure where to file this. Im not sure where I stand, then let it lay there again. The office never gets clean that way. Do what you can to look through all that paperwork thoroughly. Look at the whole story. See? Read through it like your looking at what happened to a client. The next box, Forget is optional, it is up to you to check that one or not. I personally like to check it. Always try to if I can. Then look at another mandatory area, Resolved. Maybe you will not resolve the issue right away, so you can stamp it with Pending and file it next to documents to be revisited. But, at some point, you will have to check that box Resolved sign it and date it, and then you wont have to deal with it

anymore. Its off the desk. That is the goal, you see?

Now, walking miles through pastures smelling of manure-tinged mud, over and under fences, along lumber roads, cedar in the air, through private property, around sink holes, through marshy patches created by the storm, then back home; Almost every day during that week, Mira attempted to clean out her office, which upon Big Lous recommendation, she determined was a law office in which she was judge and jury, as well as counsel. She examined all her files, making rulings, both for other people and herself. She issued sentences and let people off for time served, or good behavior. She was beginning to see her actions and the actions of those around her for what they were instead of what she wished them to be or forced them to be. She held imaginary conferences with people from her past in which she gave them a chance to have their say and plea for leniency: The time her brother rejected her in front of his friends at school. You made a mark that day, she imagined admitting to him. He was glad to be forgiven after such a long time; Her friend in high school accusing her of seducing her boyfriend? Forgiven and forgotten, finally. The man on the subway who jerked off in front of her face- he had larger problems, clearly. Forgiven. (Forgetting was not possible.) The time she called her mother a fucking bitch and made her tear-up over the kitchen sink: she assigned penance to herself, walking up a steep incline twice, three times, four times, running up once, three times, four times until her thighs and ankles burned, and her guilt was exorcised.

All of this felt like some kind of progress, and it drove her everyday to walk farther and farther, exploring new routes in the hills as her march through paperwork got deeper. Her body moved quicker, yet she was too inside herself to notice much of the changes. During her rambles she felt less alone than she ever had in her life, even with another person. She accompanied herself in grateful camaraderie, which came as a great relief. Enjoying her own company came to Mira like a revelation. With it she knew she had been freed from the bonds of loneliness once and for all. That simple gift was the promise of real independence somewhere in her hands, somewhere in her chest. It made her spirit bursting and boundless. As the miles clicked under her shoes, her office began to look neater. She was ultimately able to allow appointments with those who had grievances with her to sit before her as she did the listening to their complaints. At times she cried to herself during these imaginary meetings as she heard loved ones explain how she had wounded them. Before now she had been unable to hear their side without feeling defensive. In some cases she defended and acquitted herself of all charges, and most other times she was forced to do the apologizing. It didnt matter as much as she thought it would that she was only apologizing to her imaginary image of the person, because she now understood that it was not their office, but hers, and it was her paperwork that was getting done. Paperwork she didnt even realize she needed to do until it was finished.

It was after returning from one of those walks in the afternoon that Mira found Kitty in the front yard. Mira was so shocked to see her outside at all- so much so that she didnt notice at first how awkwardly Kitty was standing in a sort of half-crouched position. Shes bearing down. Miras awareness became sharp as a flame, running to Kitty where the ground was moist and stuck with leaves; Kitty squatting and leaning forward with her palms on the thick trunk of an oak. Whats? Are you? Mira finished neither question, her eyes wide and clear. Felt so much pain. Kitty said between pants. Wanted to get up. Tried calling Lloyd, she grunted. Tell himI think couldnt get a signal. Im so sorry I wandered off. Mira could see the cell phone screen glowing green on the ground next to them. Dont feel bad. Were ok. She clutched her enormous belly as she spoke and her voice came out strained. Thought I might drive to the hospitalStupid, huh? Did you call an ambulance? Mira grappled for the phone. Insurance dont cover it a hundred percent she grunted and followed that with a whimper. Then what the hell do they cover one hundred percent? Jesus Christ. Are you sure? Doesnt sound rightTry not to push, Kitty. Try not to push? What the hell do I know? Mira was vigorously rubbing Kittys lower back. Let me drive you. Babys comin I think. Clem was a breach. I dont think this babys comin

breach. Kitty heaved in the way an Olympic weightlifter does to get three hundred pounds of metal over his head. "No, no!" Mira pleaded, feeling Kittys effort as if it were her first California earthquake. Kitty, dont! Theyre going to get here right now! Sweat poured from both of their faces as Kitty fell backward. Mira jumped behind her to hold her up and Kitty gave another heave. Kitty No! Mira begged her, Just another minute! But it was happening too fast, and Kitty had done this before. Not afraid, Mira, she told her, but it was no reassurance to the novice. You can go home now, Kitty told her. Ridiculous! Go home? Shes crazy! Ironically in the midst of such a feminine act Kitty seemed very masculine. She reached down to feel her baby beginning to emerge. Oh God! she screamed and the pain in her voice was bright and searing. Oh Kitty! Miras helpless panic was audible. Im here. Im staying here behind you! I am so sorry I wandered off. Im so sorry. So sorry, Kitty. Dont say youre sorry, Kitty commanded, wheezing heavily and purple in the face, though it was no more than sixty degrees outside. Their feet, Miras in shoes and Kittys bare, were planted in muck, as the amniotic fluid had not disappeared into the already saturated ground.

Another wave came over Kitty and she bore down with a roar. Her whole body stiffened and Mira felt tenuously with her fingers as Kitty was crouched too low for her to see what was going on with the baby. Up to now in Vanishing River Mira had been intrepid, but with this she had crossed into the realm of the lionhearted. She could feel the top of the babys head cresting out of Kitty. This is it! Kitty shouted confidently in a voice deeper than her usual one. This IS. Mira was the one to whimper as Kitty trembled, pushing hard with resolve. The babys face, neck, and then shoulders emerged fully into the air as Kitty rocked back against Mira and they both rolled to the ground. Mira moved to where she could see between Kittys legs. The laboring womans feet were braced against the tree trunk, her dress up around her waist; The babys face visible to Mira. Kitty was looking at the back of her babys head waiting for the right moment to give it one final triumphant push. When she did, Mira was there to gently guide the rest of the babys body out into the afternoon sun. She placed the tiny girl, who was already crying, on her mothers chest and ran inside to get something to tie off the umbilical cord and blankets to wrap around all parties. Thankfully the ambulance arrived before Mira had to test her TV-knowledge of anything to do with umbilical cords or placentas or bleeding. The baby looked healthy and Kitty was radiant and relieved. I feel like running, she gloated, as the ambulance doors

closed them in. I could do it again right now. Lets do it again! Having a kid is the way God gave women to be heroes. Once at the hospital, with Kitty and the baby off to their own room, Mira psyched herself up to visit Big Lou. In her pocket she was rolling a tissue between her fingers transforming it into hard pebbles as she made her way through the corridors. He was awake in his bed and smiled when he saw her in the doorway. He looked healthier than she expected. In fact he looked better than she had ever seen him. Youre still in bed? she joked. He smiled softly. I was wondering if you would ever come to see me. Im sorry it took so long You look well. He grinned. All back to normal? He shook his head. Better than normal. They sat quietly as she gently patted his arm. His palms and both of his feet were bandaged. Sitting next to him, Mira noticed some balding as another effect of the lightning. On top of Big Lou's head, where there had once been thick hair, was now a perfectly smooth circle of scalp, like the tonsure of a monk. You look fine she said. He went uncharacteristically quiet. Ive been cleaning out my office, she offered proudly. It took him a moment to understand what she meant. Good girl, he said finally.

Me too. You? I have had an experience, Mira I know. You dont know this. Dont worry, its not any painkillers talking. Ok. I am better now. Dont feel so sad because Im just laying here. I have had an experience Do you want to know? She looked out the window. Coming here was a mistake. I flew above the heads of everyone. I was dead, Mira, he continued. I know I can tell you this because you were there and you already know I was dead. When you pulled me into the truck, I was dead. She wanted to contradict him, but stayed silent. I saw everything and every one. I saw you, too. You were very brave to stay with me that night...Brave Coyote to stay there that way. You were trying to hold on to me with your spirit when you were doing that, I believe I was dead. Can you understand any of this? Mira watched him speak and smiled warily. What had the nurses told him of that night? He went on, I saw everyone; People in other places; People all over the world all at

the same time. That is the part I have trouble explaining. When I speak of it now, my heartor my mind, whatever it was- all of me still wants to explode with joy. I cant explain it well enough. But, it is a big feeling- It was a feeling- like I was all the people and all the animals, and plants, insects, molds, bacteria he laughed, I was everything living in the world, all at the same time. He took and an enormous breath, stealing all the oxygen Mira needed at that moment. She stared at her fingernails then looked at him. You are really the Big in Big Lou now. I dont know if you have ever heard of anything before like what I am saying but I have seen it for myself. He wanted to lace his fingers together but the bandages prevented it. His eyes shimmered. That is my experience, he said. Too much for a first visit? Its ok, she assured him. But, she did want to leave. The doctor says Ill make a full recovery with physical therapy. He calls it a miracle. And Ill be a shaman now; as my grandmother always predicted. She was right. I guess it just happened late in life. Time for a career change anyway, right? Big Lou chuckled, but somehow he was like a stranger. Do I frighten you? he asked. No, but she was a lying.

Its ok, he said. I think that might be part of my job description for a while.

The doctor saw her leave Big Lous room. She didnt want him to tell her that her friend was insane. She avoided eye contact. The doctor looked like a tall, thin version of the patient himself. How does it feel to see your Lou back to life? Hes happy, Mira offered. Its good. When he came in here he needed a lot of help, didnt he? What happened to him the lightning- can significantly change people; Something akin to shock therapy. In his case it may turn out to be a blessing once his superficial wounds heal. She wanted the doctor to leave. She didnt want to know any more. She didnt want to concede to her own part in the incident that changed Big Lou. He was fine the way he was. He doesnt need to change. At her comment the doctor paused then he smiled softly at her. You take care.

They named the baby Hope after Lloyds mother. Shoulda named her after you though, Mira, Lloyd said as he handed her a globe of keys which she needed both hands to hold. Is it Mirabelle or something like that? Youre whole name? You practically delivered the kid, anyway. Its just Mira, actually. Mira Mira on the wall. You know. But, I didnt really do anything. I just happened to be there, thats all.

Well, it means a lot though that you were there. And thanks for taking the kids tonight, Lloyd told her. You can just lock yourselves in our house if you want and Ill knock on the door tomorrow when I get there.

Mira led her two charges to the parking lot and they headed for home. It was late and both kids were tingly and itchy with fatigue. She put them in their beds with their clothes on, and by the time she lay down on the couch, she was completely awake. It was 5:30 in the morning and the sun would be up soon. Lying there, she was unable to stop rehashing the events of the long day before that had blended with the next. When she got to the part where Lloyd handed her his keys her mind snapped to attention. She rushed to the table where they sat heaped, ring upon ring; Keys hed been given to manage the grounds, keys hed added to his collection after Franks death, keys to the main house, keys to the horse trailer, keys to the padlocks on all the gates, bike lock keys, cupboard keys, keys to the filing drawers, jewelry boxes, tool cabinets, liquor cabinet. Some of the keys were rimmed with rubber, some had swashes of nail polish identifying them in a long lost system unknown to all but the painter, some had letters or numbers or occasionally words scratched into their surface, some were marked with permanent ink. Some were brassy or nearly brown, others were bright gold or dull silver. A few had rust spots. She examined each one. Two of them were skeleton keys, some were flat, others ridgey. There were big ones and medium-sized ones, and there were

a few small ones, which was what she was looking for. She shoved her boots on without socks and pulled her jacket on over her long tshirt and boxers, then wrapped her red scarf around her ears and mouth before she stalked out into the bluish morning light. The sky had a ghostly glow not seen at any other time of the day. She went straight to the shed, crunching frozen blades of grass under each step. The rocky dirt was solid like tundra beneath her boots, and she could almost taste the mineral earth in the air. All surfaces were covered with a fuzz-like frost that would be melted in a matter of hours. Only a person up this early would ever know it had looked this way. Mira stood before the shed door watching her breath rise in white puffs. The lock in front of her had several deep gouges where Lloyd made earnest attempts to saw it off. It had dents around the top where Mira had swung a hammer at it. Still it held fast, looped through gussets in the door and doorframe. She started by trying the keys that looked promising. Didnt Lloyd tell her hed already done this? She couldnt remember. Regardless, she was driven to try them herself. He had mentioned once that he didnt know what all the keys were even for. She attempted to use several of the keys without even being able to get them started into the lock. Her fingertips were turning pink and numb holding the cold metal in the frigid dawn air. She patiently tried one after the next, going methodically, finishing one ring before trying any of the keys on the next. On the third ring she pushed a small jagged key in the lock and felt a rush and a

tingle up her back when it eased in without being forced. Its easy entry was followed by the satisfying click-tic-tic as she was able to turn it effortlessly. Halle-fricken-lujah! The rusty corrugated building had settled so that the door would not swing open. She could see grooves in the cement floor inside, where it had been gouged many times by the metal door. Dust lay thick in the carved cement track. She pushed hard but the door wouldnt budge. Find the key and NOT get in! I don't think so! In her fury she forced the door so hard she feared her wrists might give out. With too much excitement not to continue trying she got down on the ground and put her feet against the base of the door. Sitting up, she braced herself on her hands. Involuntary groans escaped her throat as she used her quads to push as hard as she could. She suddenly thought of Kitty, straining in labor with her feet against the tree in much the same position. Her progress was negligible, but she didnt give up as the sun began to show over the hills. One-two-three, she counted to herself and then pressed her weight against the door. The whole building made the sound of a hot microphone and the door opened another half-inch. PUSH! Another inch. One-two-three! she heaved again. The door gave a little more, but vibrated unpleasantly. Mira scrambled to her feet and tried to squeeze through the opening. Not enough room for my melon-head! This time she put her back against the door then leaned out so she could fall against it over and over, applying the full force of her body-weight each time. The metal screeched across the cement with each increment of gain. She plugged her ears with her index fingers. Every lean opened the door further. On the

last effort it blasted wide. Once Mira regained her footing, she watched the dust float on the darkness in front of her. She fanned the stale air with her hand. The space was full of boxes and objects piled to the ceiling. In celebration of the grand opening, Mira sprinted toward the house for a flashlight.

f/4.5

In the shed, you found this one in a large filing cabinet. It was in a folder with the word GENEOLOGY written neatly on the tab. This photograph was among the probable reasons Francis Bafflehaus locked this building thirty-six years ago and seemingly hadnt opened it since. The outfit worn in the portrait was meant for a christening. The dress looks more than five times as long as the body, and is edged with lace at the bottom. It has been folded and tucked to look like it would have fit, but in reality the tiny body is swimming in its volumes. The length of the skirt conceals parts of the person no longer fully intact. Petite eyelids and nostrils are covered in a fine suede of lanugo hair. Soft light glows through its skin, transparent enough to see veins running beneath the surface. Perfect fingernails on a miniscule hand are held rigidly across the chest. The lace edge reminds you of another picture in that folder. The lace pattern looks exactly like Aidas mantilla wedding veil, and you wonder if it had been sewn into the christening gown. The other picture is of Frank and Aida on their wedding day in front of an ivy wall, behind a table set with beautiful ornate crystal and simple white china; September 1, 1952 written softly on the paper backing.

The couple stands cutting the cake, each holding the handle of a silver knife. There is frosting on their knuckles. The cake is completely covered in flowers of sparkling sugar. Their eyes sparkle too, though not much of them can be seen inside smiles so large. Aidas dark curls, grown long for her wedding day, emerge from under the veil. Her belly protrudes slightly and her breasts push from the neckline of her silk bodice, causing you to wonder if Ruthy was already on the way. Frank is wearing a structured suit with a long dark jacket and a light tie. Being slim and clean-shaven makes him appear so young and so unlike himself you almost think it might be Aida marrying another man. But the hands are Franks; long, with wide thumbs. The newlyweds faces are genuinely happy and the uncertainty of the future is merely a question of, What greatness does the world hold for us? The two photos are like bookends in the file; The wedding picture at the beginning and the death portrait at the end. Other things in the shed indicate a similar sentiment. Stacks of boxes labeled AIDA Aida, Aida, Aida, Aida; A free-standing bird house with dirt still caked on the stake at the bottom, a row of Jane Austins on a metal shelf system bolted to the wall; a stack of paintings in their frames with the wire hangers still attached to the backs- scraping into the one pressed beneath the one on top: an impasto seascape. A pile of clothes in plastic the way they come back from the dry cleaners: mangy fur coat, thickly brocade dress with sparkling brooch pinned to the front, several heavy woolen skirts, beautifully beaded cocktail gowns. On the mess sits a stack of hats wrapped in

plastic; the one on top: a salmon colored cloche with a feather tucked behind the band. The little thing in the christening gown was to have been the third child of Mr. and Mrs. Bafflehaus, and the photograph is the only real proof that the girl once existed. The doctor had declared it a stillbirth. This is a picture that Francis felt he had to take in order to record the tissues of life; hair, eyes, and ears that were his child, who would soon melt back into the earth. It reminded you of the death photos families commonly took around the turn of the century, but this one looked barely like a person at all. He had taken the picture for himself, to the great reticence of the nurse at the office, only hours after his wifes D and C, before she fled for good. Francis, looking haggard, came to the private doctors office carrying the Christening dress and bonnet, his camera, and a baby blanket, with an unusual plea: to take a proper portrait of the child whose life his wife had not been able to sustain. Aida ran away after this, horrified by her own ability to bring life and to squash it. At first she was afraid to give birth to and raise another mentally disabled child. Then she had become totally unable to face that possibility. She had stopped eating once she began to show and had drunk many of her meals; Bloody Marys usually, but sometimes just straight vodka from the bottle. She went on this way in private, and in public, until a miscarriage was inevitable and merciful. Francis had not tried to stop her, and for that they both felt deep regret and shame. He had allowed his wife to be irresponsible for herself and their child. But he had also been afraid to admit his own fears, and part of him was relieved to let her take the blame.

She could no longer face the man who had not tried to save his own child, had not tried to save his wife from her own regrettable acts; and she herself had not enough courage left to face the same man whose child she had essentially murdered. Aida left town that night, aimless at first, then eventually joined her sister in Dijon, communicating intermittently with Francis through postcards and letters over the years, which were also contained in boxes in the shed. You read a few and they were always brief, talking about what her day had consisted of and then thanking him for the latest snaps of their son and daughter. Please tell Ruthy, one card read in beautiful cursive script, I am so proud of her for graduating college. Can you believe it how the years have flown? Please give her the gift I sent.

Chapter 32
I learned from my own pictures and had to, for I think we are the breakers of our own hearts. -Eudora Welty

Clement stood with his sister. He was wearing a bicycle helmet and knee-pads. They had been playing robot. Will you drive us there? Haley whispered as she untied a sheath of cardboard with numbers and dials drawn on it, which had been cinched around her middle like a corset. They were standing in the yard of the main house. Miras mind was still on her find in the shed. A week had gone by and she still hadnt mentioned it to anyone. Drive you where? she asked.

Where you said you would, Haley replied, as if that cleared everything up. I dont know where I said I would. Thee wanth to go to the plathe where the acthident wath, Clement explained. Oh that. Did I say I would take you? The co-conspirators were silent. Haley glared at Clement out of the pit of her eye, and he looked back at her, then they both looked to Mira. Before Haley could stop him, Clement blurted, No! Cle-ment! Yes, she did. She said she would take us! Remember? You said you would take us, Mira! You promised! Relax. I didnt say I wouldnt take you. I just dont remember saying I would. Jeez, people just relax I dont even know where it is. Ill have to re-read some of those articles and look at a map. Do you know where it is? Haley shook her head. When we go, she made Mira promise, you cant tell Mom.

That afternoon the three of them got in Franks old truck for a picnic. The trucks heater was on only to defog the windshield, because it wasnt enough to keep them warm. They were about twenty minutes from town, with increasingly fewer cars on the road. They were yet to reach the snowline when Mira would take an abrupt left onto Wanderers Canyon Road. During the year of the accident there had been unusually heavy snows,

whereas this year merely cold and wet. Haley sat next to the window watching the scenery, imagining the ride as seen by those children; Their school pictures printed on faded newspaper, each face flashing smiles that belied a somber fate. She recalled the way the pine trees in one of the pictures were laden with snow in front of a heavy steel sky; The same pine trees now displayed their lush greenery proudly, and the canopy grew denser by the mile. A few minutes off the highway, the road narrowed to a width that could barely accommodate two cars, had there been another one in sight; and no street signs on Wanderers Canyon Road. Check my sheet, Mira told Haley. Does it look like we pass the bridge and then turn off, or turn off right before the bridge? I cant remember. After, Haley read as their truck rumbled over an iron grating meant to keep cattle from roaming away. They turned on to the next road, which was even tighter and unpaved. She tried to sit up higher in her seat. Do you think its really cursed? Mira looked over. Cursed? Back then they just needed someone to blame for what happened and they didnt want to blame that pastor. Cause he was already dead. Dont worry. Were getting close I think, Mira slowed the truck. With the windows open, they could hear the tire treads compressing the gravel. None of them really knew what they were looking for. Do you think the thame tree ith thill here? Clement was barely able to see over the

dashboard. Did it get knocked out in the akthident? I dont know, Clem. Its probably still here. Tell me if you see it. The road narrowed to a cul-de-sac. There were no cabins or buildings, and the trees were thickset. Though still afternoon, without headlights it was almost too dark to find where all those children had frozen into human blocks of ice. Didnt you see it? Haley implored. No, Mira shot back, I am trying to drive! They all looked again at Miras notes, and at the pictures in the scrapbook. Well just swing around and try again. But, Im surprised you missed it, Haley. Youve stared so much at those pictures. But now that Im here, theyre all just trees. They look the same. Plus, you made the notes. They had been thledding at the end of thith road, right? Clement said. Tho they were going the other way. He pointed behind his golden head. Well thee it going back. And he was right. After driving half-way up the road, Mira pulled off at the moment Haleys finger targeted a tree. There it was; the same one the doomed van had hung in for three agonizing days and nights, and just beyond it the ravine where the pastors body had been found in the spring once the snow had begun to melt. The hunter who spotted it said he looked as peaceful as if he were sleeping. This came as a comfort to loved ones at the funeral who would not be viewing of the pastor's body, which had been

shot through the tree's branches, and had apparently only held together well in the ice. The trio got out of the truck and went to a large scar in the middle of the trees trunk where the bark was torn off on impact of the van all those years ago. The core of the tree must also have sustained considerable damage as it grew at an odd angle from that point. They ate their lunch in the trucks cab. What if something happens to us on our way home, Haley asked, And we never get there? You shouldnt joke about that. Im not joking! Mom and Dad wouldnt miss us. Huh, Clement? she looked over at her brother, who wouldnt answer. Its like they only care about Hope now, huh? They dont even care what happens to us. Clement shook his head in irritation, even embarrassment, and continued with his bologna sandwich and dill pickle. Haley stopped eating and stared at her food. She doesnt even make our lunches anymore. Clement let himself out of the truck and sat down in the wet soil at the base of the tree they had come so far to see.

The way home was mostly quiet. Haley noted the highway turnout as they went by. Thats where they found the teachers, she pointed, right there.

Did the thnow plow hit them? Clement questioned softly. Both kids were mesmerized by the place on the roadside, watching the spot intently until they had passed it completely by.

At home Willy Laloons luxury sedan was in Miras parking spot. She took a deep breath. Big Lou. Inside the Conlons, Willy rose in a formal way to greet her with a handshake. Im here with sad news, he said, yet he seemed oddly cheerful. I know, Mira said, her head low. You do? Her wind was barely enough to stay alert. Since her mothers death, Mira had become almost phobic about receiving news of any kind. Im going to wait for Ruthy, obviously, he explained. It was an accident. He whispered. A vending machine at the hospital. Oh God. Mira tried to imagine Big Lou putting in a few coins, just trying to get himself a snack with a little flavor. It took his quarters, but his honey buns wouldnt come out. He shook it violently. I read that in the official report. These tragedies are more common than we think. He sustained severe internal injuries his trachea was compressed. It crushed his Mira's eyes were full. Heviolently? Mira could not see Big Lou doing anything violently.

They got the machine off him pretty quickly, but there was no use. I identified him the morgue. Sad thing was it happened at the hospital. He went there to get a wound cleaned and drug treatment, according to the sign-in sheet. He, oh. Jeremy? Mira felt guilty for her relief, but the relief was greater than the guilt. How terrible. Funny thing is well I guess its not funny, but besides the buns every other thing, all of it, fell out of its coil in that machine. There were the buns, just stuck there, right in front of his face, poor soul. Wheres Ruthy? This is going to make the land deal more difficult, isnt it? Mira asked. Theres no recipient besides him indicated in the will." Willy nodded. "It becomes public domain for the city. Means City Council will decide by the end the month what happens before it gets foreclosed on. Probably gives us a better chance. Proceeds will still go to Franks debts and whats left will hopefully be enough to keep Ruthy comfortable.

Willy explained to Ruthy how her brother had gone to sleep forever, and though it had been several years since she spent much time with Jeremy, she wept inconsolably, and no one knew how to comfort her. She would be changed by this, for she understood enough to know that she was now officially alone. When Guppy asked to be let out, Mira went outside with her- and she started

walking until she got on her bike. Knowing how much Ruthy liked George the monkey, Mira suddenly had it in her mind to buy one for the grieving girl. It was too cold for a bike ride. Mira should have taken the truck- but she was physically tougher than she had been months prior. She rode standing down on the pedals, against the wind. Her face sparkled with dapples of light as she passed under the webs of empty tree branches. At the grocery store she waited in line at the deli to buy Ruthys favorite dry salami. That honey baked hams all right, said a man standing next to her in line. It took Mira a moment to realize he was speaking to her. She recognized him from the pub as the one who talked about picking up women at church dances. I like ham, she nodded coolly. But Im buying for a friendGetting the salami. You wanna try the ham? Its real good, the woman behind the counter called too loudly. She was already handing them each a sample. Oh, yes, thank youMmm. It is good. Want some a that too? the deli maid asked, her plastic gloves making her fingers resemble thick, white sausages. No thanks, Mira answered. But, I believe this gentleman does. The man declined the ham as well, and then ordered a pound of Swiss. He turned to Mira wanting to know why someone like her was in Vanishing River. Yet, her explanation barely got beyond mention of the name Francis Bafflehaus.

Oh, the man flouted. That guys the reason my marriage went like it did. The deli maid handed Mira her bundle of meat. But she couldnt walk away yet. She listened as the man went on, Oh, we never shouldve stayed married long as we did Problem was we had these damn pitures Bafflehaus took of us when we was engaged. Couple of em ran in Time Magazine, May 1957. Can you imagine a national magazine like that? Ever time we had a big fight shed drag out them pitures and say, Johnny, but dont we look so nice here? Johnny, but dont we look so happy? A piture wouldnt lie to us, Johnny, would it? And that's how itd always go For years! Other peopled meet us and think we were the worst two people to live any where close to one another, let alone in the same house for forty-two years, but then someoned show em them goddamned pitures and sure nuf, theyd end up changing their minds too. Im sorry. Mira shook her head. Sometimes I guess he was too good at what he did. Too good if thats what you want to call it. I still got them damn things. All them proofs too, he continued. End up looking at them damn things ever day sometimes. Just cant stop myself from staring at em. Cant throw em out either. The mans eyes turned watery pink. His bottom lip, thick and rough with age, twitched slightly. If you or your family ever decides to get rid of those pictures, please send them to me instead. Ill give you my address. Mira could see that all the food in the mans cart was for single servings.

Give em to you? He looked at her suspiciously. Well, the Museum of Modern Art in New York actuallyFor Franks permanent collection. I work for the museum thats going to house his work. The man seemed to understand enough that he accepted Miras business card. Are you divorced? she added, remembering him that night in the pub. Divorced? Hell no Edna died. And if it werent for those goddamned pitures... I wouldnt of had toto. He didnt finish the thought, and shuffled in the direction of the nut bins. Enjoy that salami, he said and waved her off. As Mira went through the checkout, she managed to resist buying a magazine.

Turns out, it doesnt take as long to pick out a stuffed animal for someone else as it does for yourself. However, Mira wondered if it would make a woman Ruthys age feel foolish, even if she would enjoy it. Mira was afraid, her feelings might be hurt. On her way out of the shop, she got a different idea, but it went in and out of her head so fast that she had to walk back to where she was standing when the thought came to her in order to catch it again. She placed the stuffed animal back on the counter to be exchanged for a recording kit with headphones, microphone, and a few cassette tapes; the vague idea in mind that Ruthy might like to make her own recordings. On her way home Mira stopped at Burgers and Frosties. She hadnt eaten there for

weeks, and felt deserving of it. Before she came to Vanishing River she had been a soft girl. Under her old winter jeans her new thighs and calves had gone firm. She ordered seasoned fries and an extra thick chocolate shake. "Itll be just right by the time I get it home. The kid working the counter wrapped the order in paper so she could pit it in her bike basket. She took out her wallet to pay but the cashier wouldnt take her money. Thats all right, Miss. He held his hand out to stop her. What? Your friend says next time you come in its on him. Youre the girl working for Bafflehaus, right? Yes. Well, who? Tall thin guy, wears a baseball cap sometimes. Was it Alfonso? The boy nodded. Said he owed you a burger and never got to buy it for you. Dont worry, its all covered. A smile operated by the subconscious, took over the small muscles in Miras face. He still owed me a burger, but Well hes buying it, so enjoy it. Made damn sure I knew not to forget. Did he leave? she was concerned. I mean, move? Still has to settle his bill, so better not have.

Since he had announced his intention to become engaged, she had not seen Alfonso, and felt it a great personal triumph not to have thought too often of him either. Yet, as she sat alone, eating the burger he was paying for, she could think of no one else. What an asshole.

That night a City Council meeting was being held so quietly that none of the Miwok CROW even knew about it, which of course was not by accident. Many of the City Councils members were members of the Kingdom of Heaven, most of them in fact, and it was in that clandestine meeting that Fay shared a letter from the big church in the valley. They were urging the Kingdom of Heaven to contribute good faith money, which some could call a grubstake, or they would bid on land in other communities. Fay explained to the council that the town would loose this opportunity if they failed to take decisive action. She could make a deal with the Blessed Faith Community to pay them the money they did have and to allow work to begin on the land- while they came up with the remaining amount. Fay implied that since money had been stolen by an Indian, the church should be given special consideration. She reminded the Council that it would not be a sale yet, but an allowance to begin surveying and excavation. The matchstick church, destroyed in the storm, could finally be removed, and even if the Kingdom of Heaven didnt ultimately win the bid for the land, it was a process the Indian Casino group could use in the building of their monstrosity, should that abomination be allowed to occur. Her speech ran like a

filibuster - until the council at last relented. The very next day a fleet of trucks and heavy machinery were deployed to the edge of Vanishing River, awakening Mira by the sound of huge tractor tires rumbling along the easement not far from her bedroom window. She found Lloyd in the yard, still in pajamas. Whats all that? he shouted, squinting into the rising sun. Mira had left her porch wearing a backpack full of cameras and film. Lloyd asked her, You plannin on goin out there? Kitty appeared on her porch in her maroon robe, holding tiny Hope who was redfaced and crying. Should I call the cops? she asked, and just after she said it they all watched as a squad car sped down the lane, spitting gravel off its back tires. Lloyd hurried inside to jamb a pair of jeans over his pajama pants. Good, Mira was relieved. Someone has already called them. Lloyd and Mira werent able to walk far before they reached a barricade of a long wooden saw horses painted day-glow orange. A few yards behind was the police car they had seen. A few moments later some of the Miwok CROW, including Tark and Willy pulled up in separate cars. A policeman stepped out in front of them. We got construction going on in here, folks, the policeman kindly offered. Stay behind the barricade. Dont want any trouble. He kept a hand on his firearm as he said it. Maybe he was not so kindly after all. Willy rushed forward demanding to see the permits.

The one with the permits is in there. The cop pointed to the far-off fields behind him where the remains of the old church sat atop a fabled vein of gold. But, Im sorry you cant go beyond this point. No one but work crew beyond this point, the policeman was beginning to look intimidated. He called for backup on a radio attached to the shoulder of his uniform. Id like to inform you all, that as you probably know, anyone caught trespassing will be arrested, he put the palm of his hand up in their faces. I guarantee you that. Another police car pulled up in the narrow road, blocking the cars that had stopped there. The two officers began escorting anyone they could away from the area. One of them pushed Mira along by her elbows. You understand that this land has not been sold yet, right? she implored. Those construction workers are the ones trespassing on private property. This is the private property of Francis Maxwell Bafflehaus, the photographer. Everything here belongs to the Museum of Modern Art in New York City. Her lie felt brazen, but made no difference to the cop. Willy stalked behind with shoulders hunched and fists balled. It is our understanding this lands been sold, said one of the officers. Were here, he explained to Mira because the City Council suspected thered trouble like this you see? He indicated the mob surrounding them. We dont want to see any innocent folks running back there and getting themselves injured or killed. Of course you dont. Who would be liable then, do you think? Huh? You understand whats going on in there?! Willy shouted. Those are the people you ought to

be arresting! This is a crime! There are Indian burial grounds on that land. By law, there must be a tribal member present for any excavation. Your law enforcement agencyll be sued by the state for these infractions. Yeah, Ive been made aware of that, sir. Ill just tell you, theyre going by all the rules in there. Were making sure of it. Rules? Tark was incredulous. Rules are easy if youre the ones making them up as you go along. Rest assured, the officer said calmly, Nobodys making up anything. Were following the rule of law. Were sure of that. Mira was ready to add something to a blog she had abandoned after posting snaps of the donkey that chased her over the fence months earlier. Now she uploaded a series of pictures of the Indians being pushed away from barricades by the police. She wasnt sure how these things happened so fast, but by the end of the day one of her photographs was running on two separate blogs- one for the Kingdom of Heaven Church, and one for the Miwok CROW, both bearing vastly different captions. Under the first one it read Unlawful trespassers removed to avoid further incident. Under the other, Peaceful protectors, violently forced to vacate their Indian land. Willy placed calls to the Bureau of Indian Affairs, and the Office of Interstate Land Sales, while Lloyd and Mira prepared to get on the site using access roads behind the pasture. Mira lightened her cargo to one digital with a telephoto lens, and binoculars. Lloyd

for his part brought a shotgun. Miras face scowled at the sight of it. She didnt want another incident like the one that had gotten Big Lou jailed. Lloyd looked at her defensively. You got your weapon, he pointed to her camera, And I got mine. By going the long way around, through clumps of trees and brush on the property Lloyd knew well, they managed to get within a few hundred yards of where the crews were working. Jesus Christ! Lloyd muttered as they viewed the scene. Neither he nor Mira could believe how swiftly intractable damage had been done.

f/2.8

The church is in the foreground, or rather, was in the foreground. Its no longer there but for a collection of sticks and a jumble of rocks that once formed its foundation. You can see a few pews, a chunk of the altar, and some railing that survived the plundering bulldozer; the brittle pages of a bible flutter about the mess, and nothing of it looks as it once did. Out of the top of the rubbish, if you focus very closely, you can spy the outstretched arm of an ill-fated statuette reaching toward the sky like the victim of an

earthquake; It's disembodied hand touches the open-air of the meadow. In this photo you see the backhoe at work, already digging up soil covered for the one last hundred and fifty years. The rogue archeologists on site later reported that it appeared as though someone had already done a fair amount of digging under that foundation, but of course no group of men together with picks could ever work as swiftly and decisively as just one man with a backhoe. The archeologists, and about forty other workers, all wearing hard hats, appear in this frozen frame. Some of them stand behind surveying equipment, sizing up regions of the property that swell, then dip. Some of the workers hold clipboards, or paper cups with steam rising from them into the frigid morning air. Those cups have come from a table of refreshments supplied for the men and women working. It can be seen in the left corner of the shot holding a few tall thermoses, a bunch of bananas, apples, oranges, and an empty pink box blotted with grease stains- pastries of fuel for gluttons. Several of the workers sit with laptops, and a few use walky-talkies. They are all in communication with someone, or with each other, only not with the people who most want to speak with them. Those people are in town right now, frantically trying to assemble some force to stop the horror of an event they dont even know has already taken place. The man guiding the backhoe is a modern day gold digger, wearing the same Levis invented for his gold-digging predecessors. These gold diggers, like the ones before them, have God on their side as they search for the riches their forefathers were denied by the

pious man who gave up his own life to prove a point. That mans cursed church is down now, as if it never stood in the first place. In the background, across the open field, you can see where the real atrocity of this surveying expedition is taking place. Over a low hillock filled with the bones of Miwok dead now sits a tent surrounded by people at tables. Those at the tables wear hairnets and gloves as they pick through trays of artifacts. You cant see clearly whats going on inside the tent, as people move in and out between the flaps, but you can guess easily enough. There are several other teepees set up over places here and there across the pasture, with vigorous work underway in each. You can assume from this picture that work has been underway long before the morning light and the sound of trucks alerted the mob. What is Jo doing here, standing uneasily among the archeologists? Looking down at her watch? You cant understand why she is doing this. Everything about this scene is brutally clinical. The workers scrounging for gold are spurred by years of mystery and legend surrounding this spot, and subsequent dreams of finding perhaps the second largest gold nugget in the world. The largest one ever found was uncovered not far from here, and sits on display at a local winery- as proof of the riches once promised by these hills. A vein discovered in the exposed quartz of a ravine half a mile away yielded over $3,000,000 worth of gold in 1851. It was said then that the precious yellow metal was stretching out its legs like a spider through the rock. Guided by fliers made earlier and unwisely in this campaign- distributed innocently

by the Miwoks themselves, the archeologists dig up ancient graves, justifying it by saying this kind of thing has to be done every day somewhere in America. Everywhere you go there is one sacred place or another, they claim. Some in favor of this type of excavation would also say that if we tiptoed around every Indian burial ground in the country we would have nowhere to go at all. Thats reality, they would say, and we have to face it. The gray skies this morning keep the shadows in the photograph to a minimum. However, there is one astounding silhouette softly cast to the center of the frame by a tent, along with whats left of the main burial mound. You have to let your eyes adjust, and it helps if you can turn the photo on edge, but once you make it out theres no mistaking the majestic profile of a face. You didnt see it at first, but now sitting here staring at the picture there is no denying that it is a face. A profile that at second glance is unmistakable, and you know to be that of Big Lous. His gentle brow slopes toward the workers digging up the ground under the site of the old church. His cheeks appear heavy, watching over his land without a smile. The workers he faces seem amazingly unaware of his gaze. And they dont notice the inordinate number of birds gathering in the tops of nearby trees; evergreens that these same watched-workmen intend to fell later this day. A few of the tallest pines stand at the scene leaning toward one another, framing between them the location of the old church. Behind their arch, the clustered branches of dendritic oak, veinously resemble the solder of a stained-glass window against the sky.

Chapter 33
When you go out into the field with your camera, wear a jacket with big pockets. LOTS of big pockets. Eliott Erwitt

There was a gash in the earth fifty feet wide and in places, almost that deep, on

which the old church once rested. It reminded one of a meteor crater, and in it there was no gold; No vein of quartz in the bedrock to indicate the presence of what would qualify as precious to the church. No golden legs of a spider to tickle the necks and ring fingers of treasure hunters. The people of the Kingdom of Heaven looked upon the hole in the ground with bitterness, especially Fay Morningstar who wept at the sight of it that afternoon. The hole would be the sign of her downfall. This was the case with most people who came around to get a look at it for them selves and ended up averting their eyes. Though they denied it when asked, Mira understood by their faces that these people had believed in the existence of that gold, both coveted and feared; The cherished myth which most would have been happy to have back, were that a possibility. No gold, was the chatter heard around town. Three hundred yards away from the crater, where the old church used to be was arguably an even ghastlier sight. Where there had once been sacred burial mounds, there were now empty pockmarked dunes. This land had once again been wounded and then abandoned. Meanwhile the Blessed Faith Community casually decided not to use this place as the site of their future retreat center. They took what money had been given to them and used to it pay for the excavation services that had already been provided. We regret to inform you that the evaluated real estate does not meet with our particular needs at this time. We have also perceived a lack of community support for our project in Vanishing

River, was the entirety of the letter written to the City Council and the Kingdom of Heaven Church, and with it was attached a retraction of their bid. By the time the letter was received, they had already loaded up their trucks and left town before dawn that Sunday. Wounded as the land, people felt confused and outraged. The Miwoks and the members of the Kingdom of Heaven were both victims of these events, but they were not together in their sorrow. Now it was the members of the church who should have been locked up for vandalism, trespassing, sacrilege. But nothing was done, and the best among them were both angry and ashamed, and the worst were merely angry. All over town were downcast eyes belonging both to the few Miwok CROW and the many members of the church. There was no word on restitution for either the Kingdom of Heaven or Big Lou, sending the towns small Native American community into a trenchant state of disillusionment. In the wake of the botched land deal, the church staff recognized that they had been taken. Greed for the riches that lay hidden beneath the land had driven them to compromise in ways not even they had foreseen. The damage to the land was irreparable. Fay was as humiliated as she had been determined, and egoistic to be the one bringing a larger church to the community. She took refuge in her home for stretches of days, alone but for her brother Ray. The umbrage of the Miwok was now justified and it boiled into the actions of everyday. Their collective rage had left them determined to regain and restore their defiled

land. In accepting the offer of a casino they were moving closer to an indenturing most werent sure they really wanted. As a group there was a resolve to regain their land using any means. Such a decision made the church community similarly resolute to keep it from happening, as Pastor Rubin called it our town of Vanishing Morals. He assured his parishioners that they were right with God and the rest would come to them. The outcomes are always favorable for those adored by Jesus, and that is us here at the Kingdom of Heaven. It doesnt matter what must happen to achieve our ends, God stands behind us one hundred percent. He doesnt stand behind those Indians and their evil ways. They practice witchcraft- and that makes them enemies of God. He smote them! We all witnessed that! He smote them and their evil ways!

As the land behind Miras house was being torn up like a battleground, she was little able to continue her own excavation in the shed. She attended several traditional Miwok burial ceremonies for the bones that had been unearthed. It was an honor to be invited and so she tried her best to fit in at the ceremonies, which meant leaving her camera at home, an omission that pained her. Her only record of the events was her commitment of them to memory. The bones were re-buried with some of the real gold of this community: early blankets, baskets, abalone jewelry, glass beads, animal skins. They were interred facing east, to watch the sun come up each day.

In one ceremony a bonfire was set of the old church beams in the crater around which the Miwok danced and cried for their distant ancestors throughout the night. The drum beat as the fire ate the bones of the church. Some of the ceremonies were postponed for the cold and rain that had settled in to the hills that time of year. Yet, rather than it being dreary, the falling water seemed to soothe and melt the land back into a natural shape; cleansing the open sores that had been scored into it. Mira hiked the green hills along with her Miwok friends, properly returning their ancestors to the earth. Big Lou went along via horseback, without the help of Jo, who was no longer welcome at any Miwok CROW gathering. When Mira did occasionally see her, Jo claimed to hold no resentment toward her old friends, and no regret about her facilitating the excavation of the land. She hoped the other Miwok would come to see it that way. They didnt.

Thinking she had grown numb to catharsis, Mira returned to the shed to resume the grim, yet compelling task of uncovering the lost years of Francis Bafflehaus. That phrase bubbled in her mind as she worked. She could see it as the title of the Bafflehaus monograph she wanted to put together. She worked privately into mid-April, still unsure of how to approach the museum with some of her finds, including the death portrait which she was certain would add interest to what most considered an accomplished, but subdued

career. It nagged at her how private some of Franks must have been to him. To bring it into the light did not seem like something he would have wished for, and yet he had not destroyed it either. Mira asked herself if he would have wanted the portrait of his childs body to have been part of the legacy he left for himself. She wondered brutally, if what he had wanted even mattered now. On a Wednesday evening around that time, Mira met Alfonso by chance. She spotted him from a distance, alone at Burgers and Frosties. Not intending to go in, she only wanted to watch him stand in line to place his order. She knew it was silly to be standing there watching like that, but it was a harmless indulgence. With her eyes, she traced the shape of his back down to the way his knees came in at a certain angle, making his silhouette instantly recognizable. Looking at him made her feel surprisingly peaceful. With the few drops of rain that hit the sidewalk Mira began to walk away, yet before she could turn completely around she caught sight of Alfonso as he turned to check behind himself, as though he had been tapped lightly on the shoulder. Seeing her out there, he waved. Rather than risk looking like a stalker, she went inside. They sat together in a booth, eating slowly. With all that had happened in town, there was plenty to discuss, but the conversation was slow and awkward. The cast-off. The never-cast. Her own feeling of smallness clued her that she was unfortunately the same person she had always been: only able to see her self in the light reflected by another. She thanked him for the burger he had bought for her months prior, and walked

home in the rain, alone, but not hurrying her steps. Her hair was matted to her head, and her clothes to her body. The heavy coat she hauled out from New York was now useless in the rain. Something though about being saturated to the skin felt satisfying; Hot tears masked by the rain. She left her heavy clothes in a heap on the doorstep, their runoff expanding into halo on the wood. Haley and Clement appeared at Miras door holding an oil lamp between them. Hi, Haley said breathlessly. Mom says we have a electrical short. But our Daddys not home. The kids looked pristine compared to clammy, splotchy, purpley-pale Mira. She glanced up at the house across the way. It was dark but for a candle in the bathroom window. You blew a fuse, right? Haley was focused on Miras unclad foot, the scar on which turns deep royal blue whenever she is cold. She says we can wait til he gets home, but were going to miss our show. Your show, huh. Want me to flip the breaker for you? Mira had to do this regularly for herself. As long as I can figure out which switch it is. The truth was she didnt feel much like being indoors anyway. The walls were compressing her smallness. Once the kids had scuttled back to their darkened house, Mira put on one of Franks trench coats and her running shoes, and hurried to the maintenance room behind

the barn. She became nimble with the desire to run. Her feet fired one in front of another, and her muscles grew warm under her reptile skin. Mud splashed her claves as she leapt puddles; All that freshness; the wet soil and the soft scent of new foliage made her feel high. Her hands were dry inside the jacket cuffs, and she threw the switch marked for the second house then watched as the lights blinked on in the Conlons living room. She garnered an absurd joy in the power of such a simple act; to flip a switch and bring light to a dark place. She wasnt ready to return to her own dark enclosure; not tired or in the mood to work, listen to the radio, read a book or write letters. Clattering into the house only to retrieve her camera, the urge was to run; to keep running until she felt her lungs burn. She found herself exhilarated and bound in the direction of Franks oak- backlit by the white gold of clouds illuminated by full moonlight; Bright shapes morphed to reveal swatches of starless velvet sky, a composition that would have been worthy of platinum palladium with its silver particles sinking satisfyingly into the papers fibers, to give it a stunning sense of depth. She clambered over a fence into a field where a heifer slept with her eyes open. Why Mira was confident in approaching that cow after her encounter with the donkey she didnt know. Like Coyote, I keep trying the same fucking things until they work. The cow had knelt in the field alone, wet just like Mira. The grass looked cobalt under the silver sky, and it glistened all around them. She crouched to the cows eye level and tried to imagine

living out in the open like that. She felt sorry for the cow, but the cow didnt seem to feel sorry for her self. As Mira ran on, her breath was forced into a rhythmical cadence: hard in, hard out, pant, pant, pant, pant, pant, pant, hard in, hard out, pant, pant, pant, pant- until a sense of calm was inevitable. A natural chemical serenity flowed through her limbs making her feel hungry and thirsty, yet satisfied all at once. All of her pleasure centers were active and she felt sure of how good it was to live. She felt whole and saturated. In her satiety she understood how essentially necessary it was to suffer to then be free. Finally, with her lungs tight and burning as she had desired, her muscles stinging and stiffening, her grandiosity spent, she trotted over the convex ground. Her walk gave her the sensation of floating, the feeling of being out of touch with gravity made her afraid she might actually fall. She was amazed by how much faster one feels able to travel in darkness. Tiny frogs crawled out of the river to serenade her stroll, and with each ribbit made the sound of a pebble dropped into a well. All around her they sounded like hundreds of pebbles creating an infinite cascade. That night she laughed out loud with euphoria inside of her.

The Conlons would be moving soon. Lloyd was expected at his new job in less than a month. Ruthy knew something of the impending change, and as a 43-year-old orphan she appeared to feel self-conscious about herself as an imposition. Her caretakers

were not eager to see her go into a care facility but Kitty understood the imminence of that. And through the upheaval, Ruthys prodigal mother still had not contacted them, though vigorous attempts to locate her had begun over nine months prior. Ruthy was spending most of her time helping the Ladies of Mercy organize clothing donations at the church, and when she was alone in her room she was recording her voice on top of whatever pop song played on her favorite radio stations.

An anonymous letter to the editor of the once-weekly local, Vanishing River Finds, a newspaper never more than two pages long, called the Indians resentful interlopers. The rebuttal the following week accused the church members of being self-righteous cultists. These interchanges accompanied an eruption of vandalism and at least a dozen bar fights, for which no one was arrested. Minor thievery increased, including the burgling of several homes. None of the victims ever pressed charges, even in cases where the culprit was known. It seemed that most people were more satisfied with being angry than they would have been with justice. Fay was one of those victims, and she too had declined to press charges when two Miwok boys she had paid the previous summer to paint her house, neither of them old enough for a driver license, stole her 1997 Buick LeSabre, drove it to Sacramento then back again in one weekend. They left it in her driveway unharmed except for a soft drink stain on the passenger seat and a crack in the rearview mirror.

In another incident, Tom of Lions Hardware, and of Miwok-decent, was victimized on a Friday night after closing. A car full of girls had intended to egg his storefront, but ended up hitting Tom in the back of the head as he locked up for the night. The barrage ended as soon as they realized their mistake. Tom claimed he would have pressed charges if he had seen their faces, which he had in fact. Out for a walk before sunset, Mira chanced into Alfonso on the street. He had a bruised cheek. It would have been very unlike him to fight, but anyway there was the bruise to prove it. I was breaking a fight up, which is the truth, he swore to her. That is what I get for being in a bar with my friends. They stand around and cheer for blood and I spoil the fun by trying to pull one off the other. I was slapped down I tell you. They thought I was Native American. Said to me, Indian, let them alone to beat each other! So you let them take it? she asked pointing to the bluish circle around his eye. This happened before that. A defensive wound. Mira was felt surprisingly comfortable in the gray area that was her relationship with Alfonso. It was where most of her life seemed to take place anyway. Walk away before he does. Try not to wound anyone else with your defending, she joked with him. That night felt like the early evenings she had spent at Franks studio in the summer. The air was warm but not dry. The heat coaxed steam from the ground, wet with rain. The memory inspired her to cruise by Fay and Rays, only a block away, to see if there had been any progress on the village. Each miniature house glowed through its

windows. Mira idled in front of the display counting four new houses, none of which were lit. In fact they were sloppily built and looked as if they had just been set there- instead of glued to their foundations like the others. She resolved to bring Clement and Haley to look at the new additions anyway; something they would probably like to do once more before moving away. In the five-minute ride home, Mira had a feeling like her brain needed to sneeze. She wrapped her knuckles against her forehead trying to make what ever it was come out. At home she tapped herself a glass of wine from a box of burgundy and dropped into one of her chairs, waiting for the answer, or question, if that was what this was, to arise. Guppy rubbed against her and purred with force enough to vibrate the button on Miras pants. Halfway through her second glass of wine and her fourth loss at solitaire she gave in to the urge to construct a house of cards. It was something she had been good at since the fourth grade, and which impressed her friends but infuriated her brother, all of whom were unaware of her secret engineering strategy. In fact she figured fourth grade was probably the last time she had bothered to make a house of cards. To Mira it seemed just another useless talent. As a child, at home from school for a week with the chicken pox, she had lost hours perfecting the craft. Her first experiments taught her that the key to building a tall house of cards was to begin with a stable base. It was easier to build quite high without fear of the thing collapsing in upon itself if the first level was steady. She came to this initially by cheating and setting the cards up around a wooden block. The block

eventually became unnecessary, and to this day she only needed the cards themselves. Sip, sip of wine. There is a lot of room in that little cube on the bottom, just like the houses Ray builds. Some have light bulbs inside and the others dont. Or are they not so empty? Drowsy, she shut off her lights and lay down next to the cat that had beaten her to sleep. She pulled the covers tightly over her shoulders and closed her eyes but could not stop thinking of those houses. She strolled among them in her mind, every door looking unfriendly even before she knocked on it. Each house held a secret. She felt herself on the verge of a rare night of insomnia, organizing facts without even wanting to. Fay has such a connection to the church, Ray must have one too. No one pays him much attention. My wallet was stashed under the steeple. Scenes are painted in some of the windows. Ray mumbles when were there. What were his words exactly? Whats in those model houses? And once the question was there she couldnt unask it. The unidentified inkling nagged at her until she was up and dressed, in dark colors, a ski hat no less. It was one-thirty in the morning and outside it was quiet as a vault. With her flashlight, she tiptoed to Franks garage to find a screwdriver and any other implements she thought she could use for her investigation. The moon was down and she was completely startled by four pairs of shining eyes guarding the garage door, to the left of which stood the trash barrel. Shoo! she whispered loudly to the animals, their ringleader on hind legs, holding a stare. You littlepieces of

She lobbed a chunk of bark which landed at close range, but this only angered several of them who now stood up to face her. One raccoon did a double-fake like he was going to charge her. Dozens of claws glinted at the ends of leathery fingers. They hadnt yet bared their teeth, but she knew there were teeth to match the claws. She banged at the side of the garage with her flashlight, hoping to scare them away but instead only dislodged several bats that zig-zagged by her, beating their meaty wings. Running for cover, Mira let the raccoons win by default. The objects in her kitchen utility drawer would have to suffice: a sturdy looking boning knife, spoon, a tenderizing mallet, and a dull- but strong butter spreader. What the hell am I doing? she wondered driving to the scene. She turned off the trucks engine at the end of the block and coasted in neutral to the house next door to her target. She sat in the cab, her heart thudding judiciously while she surveyed the neighborhood, expecting at the very least to see her old friend in the tattered gingham dress. The street was deserted. All the lights, including the ones at Fay and Rays were turned off. There was no breeze to disturb the stillness. A little noise would have actually been welcome. Utter silence, when one is about to trespass, is not the optimum circumstance. She slithered from her truck leaving the door unlatched so that she would only have to slam it once when she got the hell out of there. Ill get one house off the turf so I can see under it and then Ill be done and Ill know, and I can go home and go back to bed. Lets hope this goes that fast, she muttered to herself, and noticed she was a bit sweaty of palm,

but otherwise ready. Upon first examination of the enclosure she imagined her best way in was over the cyclone fence. It wasnt an easy climb, but she felt pretty athletic lately and impressed herself duly by making it over without a noise; Maybe just a little noise, but that was only the sound of the metal chain-links grinding against each other under her weight. On all fours, she shined her light into the wee church. The same wee church that had housed her lifted wallet. Its widows were painted on the inside like stained glass but she sensed there was something more behind the paint. She pulled at the structure and found it firmly fixed to the ground. Some of the models were bolted, others glued, a few of them were bolted and glued. She tried the next and then the next, and finally pulled out the boning knife. At that point, were she caught, holding the stocky knife- it would not have been outrageous to be arrested on suspicion of attempted murder. Just figuring on how it must look. Still kneeled, she pried up one of the houses and flipped it over. In a hole dug below the electrical socket, stuffed inside a tin can in the dirt was a plastic bag secured by a brittle rubber band. Well, Ill be Goddamned. I must be some kind of psychic. Before she pulled out the baggy, she looked around making sure she was still alone. She opened the baggy and a carefully rolled wad of bills about four inches thick fell onto her lap. Her blood went hot-orange. She shoved the money back inside and placed the mini-house onto its foundation of glue and went on to the next one, pried it up with great force almost shattering it, and found another ball of money inside another tin can. Four

more houses, four more rolls of bills. She had been out in the yard for almost forty minutes undisturbed when a dog barking across the street startled her. It was time to get out, and she hoped she hadnt waited too long. After replacing the houses carefully- so that they didnt look as if they had been molested, she rose to leave. How will I know how much were talking, unless I take some and count it? Then she stopped and went back to one of the houses she already detached (it had an adorable porch swing and closed shutters instead of windows) and she snatched the wad of money out of it and stuffed it into the pocket of her sweatshirt. Miras second climb over the fence was disastrous compared to the first, sending the dog across the street into fits of howling when she tumbled onto the pavement. She ran with a limp like the butler in Young Frankenstein, finally clawing her way behind the wheel of the truck. As she drove away, there werent any lights being thrown on or doors opened wide with people in them bracing behind heavy shotguns. She figured most of the residents in this neighborhood were used to raccoon garbage-can raids getting the dogs excited at night, and most likely the flump she made hitting the ground only sounded deafening to her. When she got home it was well past two in the morning and she snuck inside as if she were being watched, locked her door, and huddled under her kitchen table with a flashlight. The musty stink of the money, swathed in mildewed Ziplock plastic, hit her before she even opened it. The rubber band around it crumbled, but the thick wad of bills

did not change their shape. Forced to lie flat, the two-inch stack was a mixture of hundreds, twenties, and fifties with a perma-wave down the middle. Her count for it: a mere ten thousand dollars. She appraised that if every house she had picked up with money in it had this much, then right there was forty-thousand. I knew there was something about tat little village! And if every house had that kind of money in it, she calculated, there would have to be nearly half a million dollars squirreled away in Fay Morningstars yard. This is Big Lous money. Ray retrofitted his town with cash insulation. Or if he was framed, then someone stole it and stashed it in the last place they thought anyone would look. But, do people ever really frame each other? She rolled up the bills and crammed them in a never-used fondue pot on the topshelf of her cupboard. She had to stand on the very ends of her toes to push the pot back into place. She wondered if Fay or Ray had heard her speed off in the truck and were, at that very moment, discovering the tampering to their yard, maybe even headed to Miras with guns to get their money back. The possibilities about what to do next overwhelmed Mira and for someone who was so excited, she sure felt sleepy.

Do you want cheese on them? she asked, holding a thin block of orange cheddar to a grater over Alfonsos plate. No, thank you. His eyes were puffy. He was sitting at Miras kitchen table in

sweats, flip-flops, a sweatshirt with paint smears and holes, and for once- no hat whatsoever. He stared at the coffee in front of him. Plain? Arent there onions? No, its just plain eggs Sorry. Its no problem. But I will have cheese then. Before sitting down at the table Mira brought out the fondue pot and sat it on the edge of the counter near them. Alfonso scooped up his eggs with toast while Mira kept hers separate, You really can tell things about a person, she thought, by the way they eat their toast. He looked at the fondue pot and then back at her. Its too early for that much cheese. He scooped eggs with his fork. She rolled her eyes playfully, as she chewed. Thats not whats in the pot. And I think once you see what is in it, and hear that theres much more where it came from, youll want to know where I found it. And once I tell you where I found it youll. May I look? He cut her off. She sipped her coffee to exaggerate casual. He lifted the pot off the counter from where he was sitting. Its too light for gold. His arms were long enough to reach it without him having to get up from his chair. Drugs? He opened the pot and removed the roll of bills.

Mira screwed up her face. Thats pretty much how I found them. New rubber band though. Heres the old one. I kept it for evidence. Evidence, he said carefully, and unfurled, sniffed, examined, then counted the money, just as she had. Where did you find it? When he said that, somehow his face didnt change. She couldnt read him, but smiled anyway because her mouth just wouldnt do anything else when faced with that much money. Want to guess? she asked, feeling a little too pleased with her self. Found it in one of the houses Ray built. And theres more. About fifty houses like this I think. I only brought what was in one of them. In his expression, she finally interpreted disapproval. Come on. You dont really think its all his money? Fay would never let him put money like that outside. Are you kidding me? She must have no idea its there. I know it. That woman would have this money accounted for, invested, absorbed into the church, as a manner of gesticulation, Mira pointed her finger on the table so hard that it hurt. Whatever. Locked down. Dont you think? Actually, shed probably use it to put that poor man in a home so she could run away with Pastor Rubin. Alfonso rubbed his chin. The churchs money. Its not his. Thats Big Lous money. Mira now accused the cash. You think its Rays? No way. You have to be kidding! She could see that calling Alfonso had been a mistake.

He responded calmly. It belongs to someone. But may not be Rays or Big LousAt least not directly. She was relieved at least by his shift in tone. You think this is the churchs? He threw his open hands into the air. Now it was her turn to call doubt. But, what if it is Rays and hes forgotten. He cant think anymore! Her forehead went to her hands. I saw four wads of cash as big as that one, if not bigger. And I didnt even look in every house! I bet all of them have money inside. I dont think you should do anything about this yet, Mira. The only way you found that money in the first place was by stealing it. Is that something you want to explain to police? I wasnt planning to bother with them, actually. So you have planned something then? What would you do? Steal it back? Mira shrugged. Give it to Big Lou. On a very large assumption. She was trying to hold out so that he would come to the same conclusion she had. But, keeping silent had never been something Mira was good at. See, if its stolen and Ray doesnt remember- because hes losing his mindbut if its Fay who took it that makes her a criminal, therefore if I take the money back neither of them can say anything about it! See? They wouldnt even know it was gone, most likely.

You would be stealing from a sick man. Fuck, she said in a deep tone. Her socks were bunched around her ankles, and with her legs crossed, she could feel stubble on her legs, therefore she tried to keep her knees under the table. Guppy jumped onto Alfonsos lap and stood on her toes with her back arched high. He scratched her at the base of the tail. Mira waited patiently for Alfonsos inevitable request to be absolved of all ties with her. At the same time, she noticed tenderly that he had bed-head.

Chapter 34
Its no good saying Hold it to a moment in real life. Lord Snowdon

The tea cookies at Fay Morningstars house were stale. Oh, yes she said

wistfully. My brother used to be an altar boy. But, that was almost sixty-five years ago. Have you ever considered he might be responsible for the money thats gone missing from the church? Mira asked. Fay looked at Mira nearly cross-eyed. Wasnt it the alter boys who used to count the church donations at the end of the day? Mira voice was deliberately innocent. That moneys locked in a safe at the end of the service. The combination is changed every week. That is always the way weve done it. No one remembers the combinations week to week. Why would you come in to my home to suggest my brother is a thief? Mira wasnt enjoying having to say these things. She chewed on her lower lip as she spoke. Because the churchs money is missing and Big Lou didnt take it and quite frankly, Faye, your brother has filled your front yard with money. Fay shot up from her seat. Please leave, she ordered them. Alfonso guffawed, which was the first time Mira had ever heard him sound impolite. She continued with her attack. Currency in styles that were taken out of circulation fifteen years ago! Look out there, Fay and tell us where he got all that money. Fay was incredulous, What are you? Im not ..! Then she went silent looking over at her brother who was in the same room with them, but not mentally present. You didnt know that was out there did you? Youre surprised. I can tell. Mira

was momentarily distracted by a group of photos arranged on top of the piano. Most of them were old portraits: a colorized daguerreotype of men in uniform, several framed carte de visite of people Mira suspected were family members from several generations past. Among the menagerie was a few recent snap shot of Fay with two other plump older women who resembled her, but were probably not related. One picture in particular caught Miras eye, and without even thinking she picked it up to held it out in front of her. Fay strode across the room to where Mira was. Please dont touch things that dont belong to you But, I guess youve already done plenty of that! she snapped, as she liberated the picture from Miras fingers; it was a yellowed black and white photograph, probably at least fifty years old, of the girl Mira was certain she had seen many times in the faded gingham dress, only in this image she was sitting with another child and wore a different dress and two clean lace-up boots on her feet.. Knowing her impertinence, Mira ventured a query. She looks like someone Ive seen before. Is she your who is she? Its all none of your business. Not any of this is your business. Or yours with one finger, Faye speared the air toward Alfonso, who had yet to move from his place on the loveseat. Now please leave this house immediately. I mean it. I dont want either of you here. Ill call the police. I want you both out! Now it was Alfonsos turn. You dont have to search out there if you dont want, he suggested. But the police will be glad to after you have called them.

Theyll take forever to get here anyway, so you might as well call them now as long as were waiting already," Mira chided. Im not listening to any of this, Fay gestured fiercely toward the door. And I would like to know how you came by that information in the first place? If you were trespassing to plant incriminating evidence on my brother, or me, I will be the first to notify the police! Mira struggled to ignore the photo of the girl. A parlous feeling came over her. The money can be seen in the pictures my friend Haley took the day we came for a visit. Do you remember? Its right in those pictures, we didnt notice it until Haley pointed it out a few days ago. Of course, I couldnt believe it myself. So I wanted to ask your brother if he might confirm it for us. Ask him? He wont have any idea what youre talking about! How ridiculous. Fay was gathering up her family photos and shoving them into a desk drawer. Mira continued on like a battering ram, We can both understand that youre brother is sick, but somehow he remembers combinations to locks he used as a child. Im suggesting we forgive him and just gather the money so it can be returned to Big Lou. Louis Walker? My brother didnt touch that Indians money. Maybe not technically, but the police took his money to replace what your brother stole from the church. The three of them were rooted like a stand of pine in Fays living room.

Alfonso leaned closer to the frail woman. Without a hat he had to brush away the hair that fell in his eyes. Ms. Morningstar, he addressed her respectfully. We are here to ensure that this town stays as everyone wishes it - Free of a casino, and everything that comes with it. But, it seems at this point, the only way the Indians can have their land is by bringing in the casino you dont want. But, you know they will have it, then you will have it too. And all the members of your congregation will have it. And it will be you, or your brother to blame for its being here. Is that what you want? Ill leave this godforsaken town if that happens, Fay scoffed. You are mistaken about my brother. Look at him. He isnt aware. Fay marched out of the sitting room to the yard where she bent ineffectually over one of her brothers artful constructions. Theres nothing here! she shouted. Her voice had taken on an especially shrill and irrational tone. Its just a simple hobby! Youre both fools, out for blood, for your Indian friend who murdered Jim Tabney and burned down his own house for the insurance. And you, arent you an illegal? Mira handed Fay a screwdriver. Look under one of those, Fay she poised her camera, And be sure to smile, because this ones going to be a keeper. Fay grabbed the screwdriver from Miras hand and hurled it past their heads. Then with the heal of her flat, she came down with surprising force on one of the small structures, snapping tiny beams and shattering slim panes of window glass. A jagged corner of wood carved a crescent of skin from her ankle, but she didnt wince. They all

looked down at the wad of money blooming from under her shoe.

f/1.4

You never like pictures of yourself, and even taking them by yourself of yourself hadnt seemed to help. But, here is a picture you can live with, in fact you like looking at it. Youre sitting in a field, deep with weeds and wildflowers. They are growing so high that in youre seated position theyre towering over you, framing you with tiny green stalks. Youd gone with Haley to a field youd discovered on one of your walks to where a horse lives behind a fence and sometimes comes close enough to be petted. You came armed with a fistful of carrots, tops still on since horses like to eat those too. Haley lugged a scrawny cauliflower in a plastic grocery bag. In this picture, which your friend took of you, youre jauntily wearing a bright orange California poppy behind one ear, which she said could get you sent to jail if you were caught, since its illegal to pick the state flower. You stuck out your tongue at her, because you remembered she was right, and you had known about the law but had just forgotten. You were almost to the horse, which cant be seen in this photo; yet, because

you were so close you both started to run. With dirt-encrusted carrots in one hand, you tripped on a rock and rolled hard in an out-of-control somersault. Tumbling in circles until your forward energy ran out. You sat there in the grass with some hair escaping your ponytail, and a scraped knee and ankle. The scratches came from the sharp points of the rock you fell over, and you and Haley both watched as the blood rose to the ragged edges of the cuts. This photo is in color and the bright hemoglobin-red stands in sharp contrast to the vibrant greens of the weed stalks and grass, and to the purplish-blue of the Lupine. Your lips are red too, and they form a humble grin as you point to your bloody knee with the hand that isnt full of carrots and supporting your weight at the same time. Instead of clumsy you were humored by your fall; to laugh as you were enveloped by greenery. The adrenaline of plunging into air, aloft and out of control- seemed funny, even when it hurt. Opposite the sky, your cheeks glow pink. Theres a sheen to your forehead and chest. You look robust. Positively. The morning started in Mrs. Pengoodys kitchen, when she invited you in after you came to get vegetables from her. The horse you were going to see was hers and she encourages anyone who wants to visit her horse to take broccoli or apples or whatever she has grown in her garden that she doesnt think she could use or sell. Mrs. Pengoody had been eager to fix waffles for you both, and though you and Haley had already eaten, you

sat down to eat again, because she was putting strawberries from her garden on those waffles, and neither of you were able to refuse something that smelled so good. You noticed a framed snapshot sitting on her coffee table, which she seemed very proud of given its prominent placement in the middle of the sitting area, but the photo itself was really a horrible one of someone bending over, their ass not even fully captured in the frame. You cant see the persons face. You asked, Who is that? and you were trying not to laugh. Mrs. Pengoody did not seem to have a sense of humor and this moment wouldnt be the first to reveal one. Thats my niece, Pinatu. Its the only picture we have of her. My brother only met her that one time, and now she has unfortunately passed away. Crappy deal. But I consider her a member of our family, so she gets to be here with everyone else, all the legitimate members, you see? Here on the tablegot one of at least everyone. After a thick cup of coffee- heavy on the chicory, you and Haley set out to see the horse, and stopped only once before reaching her. Thats when she captured you looking like the same girl who had come to Vanishing River, but who was now someone differentsomeone you recognized. Haley was the same girl you met on your trip into town, but she too had changed; she seemed to know something that kept her peaceful. During that walk you wanted to know what it was. You said you had noticed a change in her. A new little sister? She didnt say yes. Instead she told you, Because I used to think all the time that I died for someone. But I dont think that anymore.

You were resisting the urge to contradict her. What is it you know? What do you know? And I used to be worried more about living, and now I dont. What made you worry? You were her mirror. She was looking at herself. I was afraid nothing would work out in my life and nothing good would happen to me, but now I think that things work out sometimes. Even if its not how you thought it would be; things can still be okay. Nothing is so bad. Even dying. She was gesturing as she said this and her camera swayed back and forth from her neck as she walked. Words hid in the back of your throat, getting jumbled up there with each other, hopeless to gel a phrase. When she spoke she didnt ask for validation of her claim. Does it hurt? Stings. Haley said, Stings me too, I think, just looking at it. That day you both ended up feeding the horse and petting her nose, but that no longer seemed like the point of the trip.

Chapter 35
Photographers deal in things which are continually vanishing and when they have vanished there is no contrivance on earth which can make them come back again. --Henri Cartier-Bresson

During winter the bare oak limbs against a mercury sky reminded Mira of cracks in

a shattered mirror. Now that monochrome mirror reflected spring, and trees full of craggy leaves absorbing the suns rays. Their limbs proud and useful again, equal to their evergreen neighbors once more. Their raw smell, enlivened by new growth and mossy lichen, scented the morning air. Inside, Mira sat with the infant death portrait she had found in the shed. The portrait was what a critic might describe as Beautiful and Disturbing, a self-indulgent plea or an angry indictment, an apology begging for forgiveness, a sort of demand of heaven to acknowledge Gods forsaking them; Bitter longings for mistakes that could not be undone. Yet it said little of Franks talent and technique, and spoke only to his state of mind during that irredeemable period. From a technical standpoint the photograph was respectable, but Mira wondered if it belonged with the rest of his cannon. She couldnt decide if she ought to submit it to the museum as part of his collection but under an anonymous title, or leave its origin a mystery. But she knew the significance of the picture in a historical sense, and after all, it was her job to see that the true story wasnt lost. It was her job and no one elses to protect that history. Selfishly she believed that this evidentiary record of Francis Bafflehauss lost years could lend distinction to her own resum. She left the picture on the other side of the room as she ate her wheat toast soaked in melted butter and sprinkled thick with sugar and a bit of cinnamon, the aroma of which invaded every dusty corner of her small house, driving out, at least temporarily, the musty odor that perpetually dwelled there. She gave up figuring this thing out, and instead sipped

slowly at her coffee and studied a back issue of the New Yorker. Her sweatshirt was pulled down over her knees all the way to her slippers, but she was still cold. A car she didnt recognize pulled in to the parking area, and the driver never turned the engine off as a woman stepped out of a rear door and walked around the cab to the trunk. Using both hands, she dragged a suitcase onto the gravel and looked up, smoothing wavy silver hair off of her face. From her pictures Mira recognized her instantly. It was Aida Bafflehaus, and she was seeing for the first time in nearly thirty-six years, the place that had once been her home. The car she came in idled next to her for a minute or so as she barely moved. Even after it pulled away, a moment passed before she cautioned a step. Wearing a long camel colored skirt and sandals, with an elegantly woven raw silk sweater, her wrists, encircled with gleaming silver bracelets, were thin and brittle looking, just as Mira recalled from her pictures. It was clear where Ruthy had gotten her beauty. Aida was welcomed by Kitty, Lloyd, and Mira- but everyone, including Aida herself, immediately felt the weight of shame associated with her name on Franks property. She greeted each of them with a brisk hug and a European-style kiss-kiss on both cheeks. She seemed confident to reunite with her daughter, whom she hadnt seen since Ruthy was eight-years old. In Miras kitchen, Aida freshened up before going over to meet her grown daughter, almost for the first time. I remember this place, she remarked as she splashed

water on her lightly-freckled neck. Mira detected a hint of British accent. I never understood why Frank wouldnt install plumbing for a bathroom in here. She dried her thin hands on a dishtowel. Mira was sitting in a chair with her ankles crossed. Do you need a toilet? Its out there. She was finally in the presence of Aida Bafflehaus, and of all things, they were discussing the plumbing. Not yet. Ill use the one in the house when I get over there Do you mind that bathroom outside? I never thought it was fair to our guests. I felt like they were getting a raw deal out there. Well, I guess I did at first, but honestly there are advantages to having your bathroom out in open air. My God. What the hell am I saying to this woman whose house I live in and who I dont even know? Actually, I have to say that the shower is wonderful. Did you ever try it? Yes, a few times. That part is sort of invigorating, isnt it? Quite. Aida was ready for her re-introduction. Talking about the bathroom had kept them from having to broach larger topics. I wonder if shell even remember me, Aida mused during a long exhale, but didnt wait for an answer.

The former Mrs. Bafflehauss arrival had been so anticipated for such a long time that it seemed there ought to have been more fanfare: balloons, a band playing, jugglers or at the very least some warning. But there were no trumpet blasts, no celebration, no jumping up and down, crying, screaming, or ululating on anyones part. In fact the opposite was true. Everyone seemed to be quieter than normal. The initial mother-daughter encounter took place behind the closed door of Ruthys room, which was the same room it had been when Aida left. Ruthy seemed to grant Aida quiet acceptance, watching shyly from under her lashes. Aida did not have a motherly air about her, and she had not been a mother to the daughter who was still a child over thirty years later. In a way it seemed they were being allowed to resume where they left off. Both approached this possibility with somber recognition, which was much different than enthusiasm or even happiness. They were strangers with a few days ahead of them to forge a bond. Before she left, Aida had been ashamed of Ruthys incapacities; felt responsible for causing the girls retardation. She had been afraid to face this in her own child, so afraid that shed given up one unborn, and essentially another in Jeremy whom she had also not seen in over thirty years. (She was not at that point aware of his passing.) He was her hope in returning to Vanishing River; Her sweet beautiful son, who would be forty-years old in only two months. Kitty and Mira fixed lunch in the kitchen of the main house as Haley and Clement

demonstrated their worthiness to Aida by entertaining Ruthy, who would bubble with nervous laughter at anything Haley said. They were setting the table when Aida finally asked if anyone knew of her sons whereabouts. Haley and Clements eyes darted to where Mira stood with their mother. Kitty stiffened as she knew the responsibility of breaking the news would fall on her at that moment. Ruthy looked down at her lap, not wanting to hear Kittys explanation. In a burst of emotion, she rid herself of the situation by stomping out of the room with heavy footfalls on the hardwood floors and slammed herself into her bedroom. Aida didnt understand yet and looked to Haley, whose mouth still hung open from an interrupted joke. Go play in your rooms, Kitty said, shooing her children away. Im going to visit with Mrs. Bafflehaus alone for a spell. The kids rushed off without protest, and Kitty took the seat next to Aida. From the kitchen, Mira heard Aida explaining proudly that she went by her maiden name MacMillen, as she had for many years. She couldnt make out their conversation from there, but watched as the two women moved to the couch Aida had picked out in a design gallery in San Francisco in 1962. It was so strongly built, and timelessly upholstered that like Aida herself, it showed few signs of wear- though she for different reasons. Kittys words were not met with tears, as one might have expected, but shock followed by the same somber recognition she had lent her daughters plight. The women

continued talking for a long while as Mira finished loading the dish washer. The women talked even past the time the washer had finished and Mira had put all the dishes away. There was no separate exit from the kitchen and so she chose to stay occupied in that room rather than interrupt the women. When Aida came into the kitchen to offer help that was no longer needed, Mira could see that there had been tears, but they had already dried leaving only a pink puffiness under Aidas eyes.

Having heard of Aida MacMillans return for her daughter, people from town began dropping by. They came mostly as old friends and acquaintances do, to offer condolences and to see how the womans mysterious fugitive years had worn on her appearance. To the contrary, it was Aida who found that the years spent in Vanishing River had worn on the faces of the people she left behind. No one questioned that taking Ruthy to live with her was in doubt. Aida herself was mostly quiet, greeting each visitor with brevity. Thank you, to the first. Im not sure how long Ill be staying, to the second, and to the third, I may be leaving soon. As for Ruthy, Aida assumed she would see to the girls welfare and ensure that her daughters new living facility was adequate. She explained to Mira that she had a good life in Dijon, where she lived with her divorced older sister. She had a longtime boyfriend there, she said, who would be expecting her back soon. Ruthy will be happier here, she assured Mira, as well as herself.

Ruthy was more of a memory to Aida, than a daughter. Hours of labor, a difficult infancy and toddler-hood, and then piles of staged photographs arriving from abroad of a child growing into a woman. To Mira, it seemed she talked more of missing her son and inquiring as to whether she had any grandchildren that Mira knew of. Aida confessed, Francis hasnt been in touch for years, and of course Jeremy stopped writing letters once he graduated from high school. She still had only a vague idea of what had become of her son before his death.

The next morning Mira and Aida took each other for a walk around the property and Mira informed her of the situation between the church and the Indians. With regard to this, Aida acknowledged that she had long ago given up any say about what would happen to material things associated with her ex-husband. From what I understand, Mira tried to explain, When this land sells, the money will go to your daughter, plus any royalties from Franks work. Shell be independently wealthy. It was supposed to be she and Jeremy secured for life, but now that its only Ruthy Aida walked quietly, seeming to remember the son who had been anguished by her departure. In a heartbreaking fete at the age of five, he had driven half way to the next town on the farms tractor, following his mother in an effort to keep her there with him. His phenomenal effort made papers all over the state. Frank disconsolately sent his wife a

clipping of the incident that had run in the San Francisco Chronicle, hoping to illustrate what a mistake she had made. Outwardly, her reaction had been of ambivalence. To the contrary, the photograph included with the story was burned into her mind, forever after; A small, gaunt boy in a striped t-shirt and baseball cap, being carried from the seat of the family tractor to the back of a police car for his ride home. A home that seemed to him was not home any more. It was clear he had been crying, which he did often over the days following the incident, until he realized she was not coming back; that it was his own failure to reach her in time that had caused her rejection of him. He would not cry again after that. He wrote letters to her when he felt like it, but he would not love her. Both were promises he could not keep. He would become a bad person, he wrote in one of the letters, and then she would be sorry. That was a promise too. And she had been sorry for quite some time, but only for herself. Its wonderful to know that Ruthy will never want for things. Aida commented to Mira. Thats one thing I can give Francis credit for. But, Mira understood that it wasnt things Ruthy would ever want for, though lately she had taken again to ordering by mail using a credit card she opened for herself after sending back one of the offers that came to the house in her name. The Conlons have been her family for the last few years, Mira explained. Kittys just incredible. Aida was emotive, watching the ground in front of her as she walked. She clasped her hands behind her the way a nun would. How she can do all

that and keep it together just amazes me. Well, that is why she wanted you to come so badly. She really cant devote this much time to Ruthy anymore. Time she needs with the new baby. Mira was plying. And I dont blame her. Shes already given Ruthy so much. The women had made a loop of the property and were almost back to the main house. She shouldnt have to care for an adult with special needs and a perfect new child at the same time. At this Mira felt her fists clench. Ruthys a singer! she blurted. Aida smiled, almost condescendingly. I do recall that about her as a child. She always liked to sing and interact with people dance, things of that sort. I remember that. Its a reason why I want to make sure her facility is appropriate. If she came to live with you, she would sing for you and your sister, Mira was too hasty for a selling point to a woman who may not even be qualified to look after a goldfish for all she knew. Thats out of the question, really; Its not even part of the equation. They stood in the front yard of the main house and Mira had to quell the urge to slap this woman. Instead she vented her rage the way Ruthy had in the living room the day before, the same way Aida had many years before. She walked away. Mira was followed to her house. She could hear Aidas footfalls, but without glancing back, she closed the door in the womans face. Aida let herself in with petulance. I didnt ever want to come here in the first

place! she shouted. And I hate being here now, just like I did then. What do you think? Im going to stay here with my daughter and rot until I die? She stared at Mira, her face nearly twitching with fury. Yes, this is my daughter. You think Ive forgotten that? These things are none of youre business, young lady. You have no right whatsoever to impose your views upon me or my child. Suddenly reminded of Jeremy that warm day at the studio, and shocked to be receiving such abuse in her home, albeit a temporary home, by an uninvited guest, a stranger, who she feared might be mentally unstable. Mira retorted, I didnt say a word to you! Aida narrowed her eyes and pivoted slowly. Youre just a college girl, of average intelligence who thinks shes a psychologist because she read a book, or studied some art and ended up with a job packing boxes in a backwoods town. Mira grinned sarcastically and shook her head, swinging her messy ponytail like a metronome. The sight of the back of Aidas chignon, as she crossed the threshold to the porch made Mira almost sick to her stomach. No wonder Jeremy was so fucked up. He must have gotten it from you because of you- because you left him. You know what? Now I get it. Now I can understand. No, stated the prodigal woman, instantly back in Miras kitchen and up in her face. Now you are really really shooting your mouth off about things you have no idea. Mira grinned again. What is it I dont get? No, you know what? Ill tell you what I

dont understand. Now that you have a chance to make up for all the years of abandonment with your daughter, youre not even considering it! WHAT. A. MISTAKE! You are so far out of line I cant even I dont know what to Aida turned again to leave. Striding toward the door she said, You have no idea what youre talking about in the first place. Guess not, since Ive never abandoned someone who needed me. Mira felt repulsed by her self as she said it, wondering if in fact that was true. Big Lous face was in her mind. I didnt abandon him. She thought of her mother, growing sicker as Mira returned to college. It was when she returned home that winter break that her mom seemed like a different person; A shade of the one she had waved good bye to her at the train station, but not the same woman. The cheek she had kissed that day had by then, sunken away. I abandoned her. I abandoned by own mother and she let me do it, because she didnt want to be a burden to any of us, ever. To Aida though, Mira shook her head and muttered, Selfish bitch." Aida wound up her hand to slap Mira- who easily saw it coming and ducked so that Aida made contact with the screen door. Brimming with humiliation she stalked off the porch. Mira was flabbergasted, that was actually the word that came to her mind, as if it was a curse word- flabbergast!; and there was no satisfaction in seeing the painful scuff on the back of Aidas hand. Mira said, Crazy. Like Im just going to stand there and offer

you the courtesy of hitting my face. Give me a break And by the way, I do know more than you think. She had excessive amounts of adrenaline clouding her judgment by this point. More than you would probably like me to know. More than I even want to know, frankly. Im flabbergasted by the whole fucking thing. When she heard this, Aida slowed her steps but did not stop. Now it was Miras turn to follow her into the yard. Her driving force was akin to road rage. She was essentially upping the ante. I know about your baby, for one. Mira could feel her fingers and cheeks go numb. The baby Francis wasnt sure he wanted you to have either, that is. And I know how he drove you away after that. Let me tell you, he felt sorry As she said that, her voice cracked, surprising even her. She snapped her fingers at her sides to bring her back to herself. Did you know that? Did you even bother to find out? Did you know how sorry he felt? He kept it a secret from you and everyone else, but he felt sorry for what happened! Now I see youre such a loathsome person. I wonder why anyone would feel sorry for you. You had a lot of people fooled in that department, lady. Lots of sympathy you did not deserve. Aida turned sharply toward Mira, who had been talking at her back. What in hell are you talking about? The woman looked stricken, her eyes burning. Crazy. Her eyes look crazy. Mira wanted to share her secret about what shed seen in the shed, with the one person on the planet who could possibly shed some light on why Frank had been compelled the way he had to photograph his dead child and then give up

his profession for years. Her only outlet happened to be the stony woman before her. Mira moved closer so she wouldnt have to shout. Frank took some pictures Her voice was almost a whisper and her words came out sounding clipped off at the ends; anything more expressive and she was afraid she would burst into tears. of a babyYours; Dead. Ive seen it. He was recording its life out of guilt for whatever happened between you two. Miras heart jarred against her chest wall. Her face was hot and her hands were slick with sweat. Not true, Aida was spiteful, and then once she had visibly regained her composure she turned in the opposite direction. Mira followed her. Oh, its true. Ill show you! You dont believe me? Ill show you the pictures! Theres more than one. Her voice was back, strong. Aida spun around, nearly colliding with Mira. Ive seen the goddamn pictures. Ive seen every single one. For Christssake, I TOOK them! Flummoxed, Mira ears went back like a dogs. You? The thought had never occurred to her. She had assumed Aida was a thousand miles away by that time. Turning back toward the main house, Aida passed the well she designed herselfthe sketches of it in a filing cabinet in the shed. Shows how much you know, she practically spit, and this time Mira let her go.

Chapter 36

The mission of photography is to explain man to man and each man to himself. Edward Steichen

Jo invited Mira to her half-finished horse stable, saying there was something she wanted to give her. Mira went more out of curiosity than friendship. The whole way there she kept asking herself if she ought to be going at all. She was angry at Jo, just like everyone else, for letting the land be chopped up and put through a sieve. She parked off the road on a patch of bleached-white grass and walked to where she could see Jo nailing planks to the outer wall of the structure. Youve made a lot of progress. Looks like the place is almost built. Jo nodded. You know about all that shit with the land? Well, I spend a lot of time out here now and with my kids. I guess thats one good thing to come from being an outcast. She led Mira around the side of the building to a fire pit over which there was a grill balanced on rocks; on top of that sat a battered enamelware pot. Coffee? Jo offered. Mira nodded and Jo poured into a dented tin cup. So that lady plans on sellin the house youre in? Jo asked. Mira focused on the coffee. Aida? Eh. She has no power as far as that land or any of it is concerned, from what I understand. Then whats she doing back here? Jos eyes seemed to be searching the bushes behind Mira.

Just making sure her daughter gets put into a nice facility, I guess. Maybe she feels guilty for missing their entire lives then their deaths, except Ruthy Who she doesnt care that much about clearly. Being a mother, I cant imagine how she dont want her children to be okay. Maybe shes not ok in the head, you know? Maybe shes the one who needs the facility. Jo resumed work on the stable as she talked. Maybe she just did all she could and couldnt do no better. Mira helped Jo lug a two by eight out from under a brilliant blue tarp in the corner of a finished stall. You said Tark was coming? Nah. He dont come out here no more either. Dont talk to me lately. Maybe he never will. I been to karaoke night at Petes so I could talk to him. But, I guess he changed his shift. Karaoke night. Ah yes, Ive attended once or twice...Sang actually. You? I thought you couldnt sing. Thanks, Jo. Well, I heard you once. Sorry, but it wasnt so good. Yeah. I never should have. I blame the beer. Dont feel bad. I cant sing either. My uncle says my singing is like cats choking or cats fucking. You ever heard that? Cats fucking? Yes, actually. Once or twice. It did not sound like a pleasant experience.

Well, when I went to Petes it was busier than usual, but anyway, Ruthy? Your girl Ruthy, she got up and sang. Jo gave an uncomfortable look. I felt bad for the girl. Really? She got up there? Did people make fun of her? Everybody was trying not to laugh, you know? Oh, poor Ruthy. Why would they let her? Damnit Well, that one bitch you were talking about her mother. She went up there and was singing with her. She may be a cunt you know, but I got to give her some credit. Sang pretty good, and anyway the people didnt feel like laughing for a while. Mira took that in the best she could. Looks like youre doing pretty good for yourself here, Jo. Hmm? You said you had something for me? I do. She walked into the stable and came out holding a brown paper bag. A present. It was a horseshoe soldered with her initials M.D. Mira hugged Jo. Ive had it for a while. Thought I would give it to you for your birthday, but maybe you wont be around come that time, Jo said. I like to make stuff like that when I have scraps around. That one is lucky. I made it with lucky scraps. That is so sweet. I even forgot my birthday was coming. Thank you. Really, Jo." They worked together on the stable for the rest of the afternoon. I want to build up the roundhouse again, Jo told her. Dont want nobody to know about it. Thought it might be a good idea to tell you though, since you probably be the one who would see me out

there next. Mira offered her help with that too, but Jo declined. It had to be her alone, and it had to be done at night. Why did you let it happen, Jo? With the land. Why? Maybe I shouldnt ask, but Im just really curious. Jo shrugged. There was certain people who wanted me to, and I didnt see nothing wrong with it- til I saw em tear up the land way they did. Then I was mad but it was too late to stop em. Who? Who was the certain person? Jo shook her head and looked the other direction. Nah, she said. Not important now. Whats important is that I feel sorry for my choice. I told em all that, but they wont listen. Just want to hate me. I wrecked it all for em and theyll never let me alone about it. Cant see where theres much a chance of a relationship continuing.

Mira left exhausted and went home to ensconce herself in the silence she had grown fond of in Vanishing River. She wanted to lie in bed and watch her thoughts float above her. Sometimes a person needs to turn it all off, and let it all go on without them. Turing off was a new kind of turn on for Mira. Her mind was occupying corridors that had been closed for a long time. Exploring those corners amounted to a peaceful adventure that required nothing more of her than her willingness to sit.

She awoke in the morning with her back, forearms, and shoulders stiff and sore from the work on Joes stables the day before; her fingertips so tender that it hurt to pull the covers down from her neck. Thats when Haley and Clement came over, asking her to take them for a walk to see Bendy the deer one last time. Mira declined by way of stalling. Maybe in the afternoon. It is the afternoon! Haley protested. I just feel like being alone right now. You always feel like being alone, Haley sneered through the slight gap under Miras door. But, it wasnt true, and after a piece of toast and some coffee, Mira revived and went for a shower. Afterwards she sat on the porch listening to AM radio and filing her nails until Haley and Clement seeing her there, returned. The trio ambled down the lane, occasionally kicking pebbles off the pavement. They found Bendy in better condition than she had been the last time and Mrs. Pengoody had acquired an orphaned skunk from which she had already had the stink gland removed. They all got to hold the skunk, which Mira didnt find particularly cute. Haley however, loved it and vowed that she would one day have her own. Mom will thay no, Clement protested; He wasnt in love with the skunk either. Not now! I mean someday, like when Im as old as Mrs. Pengoody or Mira! Oh, Clement said darkly, remembering once again that Haley would one day be

older. He never pictured her that way, and it caused a frown. Mrs. Pengoody waved goodbye to them in her yard as she lit up and puffed raspberry tobacco that smelled a little bit like candy. Burning candy.

At home, Aida sat on Miras porch, reading and smoking a long cigarette, which she stubbed out in an empty tuna can that contained several other butts. Ive come to invite you for tea, Aida said standing up with her finger in her book. Hello, Mira said, drawing attention to Aidas lack of greeting. Her hackles were up. Aida responded flatly, Hello. She was a champion at appearing to lack emotion. After a deep breath, Ok, Mira agreed. Ill just freshen up. Aida smiled, Would you like some lunch as well? No, thank you Miras stomach rolled at the thought. Im not hungry. Will you mind if I fix something for myself, while we sit? Not at all. Mira smiled with closed lips, anticipating a long skirmish. I am supposed to meet someone for drinks later, though, she fibbed. So, Ill be over soon then? Aida got off of Miras porch, Lovely.

In a blue bowl in the middle of the kitchen table was a pasta caprese with grape

tomatoes, capers, garlic, basil, and mozzarella. It smelled so delicious Mira regretted not agreeing to eat. Are you sure you arent hungry? Aida asked again. Neither of them were strangers to this kitchen, each familiar in different ways. Her pride did the answering for her. The smell of the basil was good enough to eat, but she shook her head. Smells good though. But, Ill just have tea. I bet Frank liked her cooking. I bet shes a great cook. You know, Aidas voice was warming slightly, everything in this kitchen is still exactly where I left it. I havent gone to the wrong cupboard even once. Isnt that astounding? She poured red tea into a delicate cup Mira hadnt seen before. And these! Aida exclaimed, holding up a matching tea cup, These were my mothers and theyre all still here, and not a chip on a single one! Amazing. Frank must not have been one for change, Mira suggested as she added three spoonfuls of sugar with a tarnished silver spoon bearing the insignia of the University of Michigan. So you said you never met him? Aida asked, but didnt allow time for an answer. Sorry, by the way. I apologize for how I spoke to you yesterday. Its just such a shock to be here. She had an elegant way of enunciating that made everything she said sound more believable. I should also apologize. I was mad, I guess. I dont know.

Oh, dont be sorry. Although I admit, that was no way to treat a person youve barely met, but you jolted me into thought about a few things. She was devouring mouthfuls of pasta between sentences. My first reason for asking you here is accomplished. Ive apologized and youve accepted. Next topic: Those old little pictures. Her voice became tentative. Mira felt her stomach twist. Uh huh? Technically the pictures belonged to Aida, who she assumed would want them destroyed. It was a terrible time for me when I took those. Third time I was pregnant. Already had two. I was afraid I was not prepared to raise another child, let alone the ones I already had. I wasnt just afraid- I should say. I wasnotable. They didnt diagnose things then as well as they do now. Nobody thought I was sick, or even incapable. I think they just thought I was selfish. Well, you know what happened after that. She looked down at her empty plate and let out a sigh. Ive never been proud of my decision to leave, but it was a decision, and I know the kids were better off without me. That may sound backward to you, but I know it to be true. As bad as things turned out, they would have been worse. None of us would probably have survived very long if I hadnt just left the way I did; Especially not me. But that baby I. that was a tough one. At the time I felt I couldnt have it, her, and yet I also felt I couldnt give her up There were no abortions in this town. If I had been able to do that early on, my mental state may have been sparedBut it was not an option at that time. Not here anyway. I became desperate and things were

deteriorating. Have you ever felt desperate, Mira? Mira didnt say anything. Its really what tore Francis apart more that anything, the deciding. He never protested though, and later I hated him for it. But its what I did, and I live with that even still. I had planned to stay and raise my two kidsThats what I was going to do, you know? I was going to be able to do that. It was the whole point of it. Stick with two so you can handle it. We didnt have anything like what I take now. I was basically self-medicating. I stayed drunk for about six monthsThen afterward, I couldnt accept what Id doneAll I wanted to do was keep drinking to drink more and more. I cant begin to describe how despicable I felt. I was supposed to be feeling relieved! But, the sight of my husband and my other children every day made it unbearable. Whatever was wrong with me, it just made it worse instead of better. There was no understanding. Except from poor Francis, who wanted to be of help but just I dont know kept contributing to the problem, I guess. I couldnt live here surrounded, day in and day out. It felt like there was a a bear or something sitting on my chest all the time. I literally couldnt breathe. I took those pictures of my own child because I needed to record her life, the fact that she existed. I guess I thought that then I wouldnt be mourning over something, I mean someone, that wasnt there, was never there. Do you even want to hear this? Mira couldnt stop hearing it.

More tea? Youll be up all night, but your meeting friends so that wont matter. Im not meeting them for a while yet. Plus tea never keeps me awake for some reason. This kind will, she said patting the wet teabag with a finger, I brought it with me. Its for my morning kick. Im so used to it, I knew I just had to bring some along. Its French not like theyre famous for tea or anything. Where was I? The clinic let you come back? Mira re-ignited the subject. Oh yes, well they did. Aida paused for a long breath. I sort of wish now they hadnt. Taking those pictures relieved my anxiety at first. But, then I would go and hide just to look at them, and for about a few hours that bear would get off my chest and temporarily I could breathe. Breathe. Do you know what it feels like not to be able to breathe? After a day anyway, the bear would be back again, she choked on her words. I became obsessed. I so needed that air. I was terribly depressed. I know that now, I think Francis knew it too. He was just so busy trying to take care of us all He was alone really, her voice cracked, and for a few moments she stopped talking just to breathe. He never tried to stop you? Mira asked. Stop me? No. No, never. He hated what I was doing, and he wished I hadnt ruined our baby. Oh, he didnt know what to do with a crazy woman like me. One day, I guess he must have locked me in that shed outside. It was like torture. I hated him for a while after that, but the truth is I put him through hell for quite a number of years. Finally I

just left because life for them was going to be easier if I wasnt here. It just was. I knew it was going to be better. Mira was quiet, but Aida seemed to be waiting for her response. Mira offered, I know they all missed you very much. They may have, well I know my son did, but my husband understood that I wasnt cut out for life here as a mother. I just wasnt any good at it... It was too much for me, especially with a child like Ruth. I was just so afraid I was a coward and Ive so many regrets. Her voice was clear but there were tears rolling down her cheeks. Im sorry, you probably dont want to hear any of this. Its helping me though, to say it, finally. Thank you for that. Aida grabbed Miras wrist. I might not be talking to you like this now if you hadnt ticked me off the way you did yesterday. Isnt that strange? She exhaled heavily, but it was not exactly a sigh. No one knows about those pictures or what either of us went through before I left, not now that Francis is gone. Ive kept it to myself, not even my sisterwho loves me, but I really think she wonders how sane I am. Sometimes I wonder that. She has never pried for information about why I left my family, but Im sure shed like to know. Its even strange to call them my family. They feel so far away. She paused and set her fork down on the napkin, But, of course Ive done that to myself. I meant to come back here, you know? As soon as I got it together But, I kept staying in France. Staying and staying and staying. The longer I stayed the harder it became to imagine leaving Now, its been thirty years.

Maybe youll be able to tell your sister when you get back, Mira suggested softly. Aida seemed to be imagining that scenario. Her face brightened. Yes, maybe I will. But maybe I wont go back right away, either. Maybe I need to spend a little more time with my daughter figure that out. Maybe Ill just stay on for a while, now that Im here. Well, its a great place to think, I can vouch for that, Mira felt hopeful for this woman and her daughter, but no longer sure that a co-habitation arrangement was appropriate. Long walks really help, too. You should talk to my friend Big Lou, hes hes very spiritual. Im handing out advice? Aida laced her fingers together on the table in front of her. I used to know him. Hes still here? I figured hed have moved on by now; So many faces from the past. None of them realize what Hell we went through here. Well, I believe there is such as a thing as too much time to think. But, yes Im planning on staying here for a time, tending to the old garden. Maybe I can get this place into shape before selling it, for Ruth. Thats something I could feel good about. Mira pushed her chair back from the table. She said, The place could use it, and I know Ruthy could use it, Mira stopped. I didnt mean any offense by that. Of course not. None taken. And she wont be called Ruthy anymore. Shell be Ruth. She wants to be an adult, she told me so, and I suggested that as a first step. Mira smiled. By the way, I heard about her karaoke performance last night. Oh dear Lord! Aida shouted, and laughed freely. Oh, dont let her hear me. It

was something, Im telling you. Ive never heard anything so terrible, but did you know that I joined her? Yes, thats what I mean. I heard you werent bad. Oh well, there was a time when I wanted to be a singer and an actress. Maybe do a little cabaret. She smoothed her hair back. You heard about my singing? God, what a small place this still is. To be honest I wasnt much better than Ruth, but I felt compelled to help her. And she let you sing with her? At home she is very protective of her solo performance status, Mira said happily. Yes, well, at that point I think she knew she was in over her head. How did she end up on stage in the first place? Thats pretty bold of her. She insisted I guess, I thought maybe shed done it before. Honestly I dont know her. I have to get to know her again. II think she did so that I wouldShe was trying to Aida lost her words and covered her mouth with the back of her fist. I know you dont have time for this. Mira admitted then that she didnt really have plans for the evening. Aida immediately forgave the ploy. Thats something I would do. Mira added, Plus, I am so sore and all I really want to do now is sit there on the couch and watch a movie Do you think it would bug you if I had a movie on? Of course not. This house is more yours than it is mine right now- quite frankly.

I don't know about that. But anyway, you said you would tell me a little about Frank. I have all these impressions of him; I just dont know what he was really like. Aida paused, First of all I cant believe he is gone. My own image of him here is as an eternal- you know? Just always.right here. Mira, the man was a saint and a sinner. Im sure youve heard that line before. Well, that might be too black and white." She smiled, Which is a good pun for a man who saw himself as gray. But it all depended on what mood you caught him in. Its interesting for me to hear you calling him Frank. I always liked the sound of it- so masculine. But he preferred Francis, insisted on it in fact. He had a great sense of humor but he didnt always have it with him the way he always had a camera with him. He was mostly a serious man when I knew him, and probably when I didnt. That was a quality I loved though. Even if he was laughing or joking he would still retain this businesslike air; driven by the idea of being taken seriously. Cool, you know? He was cool. And I think he wanted to be regarded. He wanted to earn the respect of everyone he met, even if they didnt like him, if they respected him then he had achieved his goal. And almost everything he did was like that a job. I suppose that was something I didnt like. I dont think he knew how to have fun. I dont think he ever learned what fun was. Ruthy came out of her room and sat down next to Mira. Aida looked at both of them. Anyway, maybe later we can talk about what to do with all that stuff in the storage facility. Right? Mira was relieved that Aida sounded open to discussing the outcome of the pictures

instead of simply announcing the date of the bonfire. Also, did you know the Conlons plan on moving? Aida said it without realizing how this would affect her daughter. Ruthy snapped her eyes to her mother. Yes, Mira said, but I dont know when. Did they say? I havent been over there in a couple days, she tried to make everything sound normal. Well, I guess it was sort of a reaction to me telling Kitty about what I was telling you about possibly S-T-A-Y-I-N-G, Aida spelled. I told them I would like to help them with proceeds from here. You know, theyve done so much for Ruth over the years. And that was okay with Lloyd? Mira asked. Aida shrugged. He said he was thankful for the offer, but he couldnt accept it, said it in his own way of course. I guess theyve already put in a bid on a house somewhere. Well see if they get it. I plan on contributing regardless. I really would like to find a way to compensate them." Mira rubbed Ruthys shoulder. Knowing that Ruth is taken care of will be the biggest thanks to them, trust me. Aida kissed both of them on the cheek and then shuffled toward her old bedroom, impressively fearless of the ghosts that inevitably lingered there.

Chapter 37
A kind of golden hour one remembers for a life time Everything was touched with magic. --Margaret Bourke White

For Aida to share her story, Miras voice had not been required. She remembered Big Lou pontificating about people who were listeners and people who were talkers. He claimed the listeners didnt get to say the things they needed to say, whereas the talkers said too much, more than they should- just to fill the silence. Those talkers he shook his head, are so used to the sound of their own voices that they cant hear the world without it. Of the two, Mira suspected she was the bad one, yet in her case it had come out of the dread of having nothing to offer, more than the love for her own voice. In fact, there

were times when she had been sickened by the sometimes nasally sound of her voice and the stupid things she said with it. Painfully, she wondered about every wise thing she hadnt heard because she was so busy filling up the quiet. In all that chattering she feared she had possibly missed the one bit of advice that could have changed it all.

The mail arrived, including Miras FedExed return ticket to New York, and a postcard from her friend. It was a Happy Birthday inscription on the back of a nice piece of mat board. We cant wait til you get home! Happy Birthday, Sweetie! We went to the Golden Palace in your honor. I opened a fortune cookie for you, and we all just loved it. Travel safe, and have a great 23!!! Love, Lisa" On the front of the card protected under a layer of clear packing tape was a fortune printed in soft red ink: Your heart is pure, your mind is clear, and your soul is devout. She stood the postcard up against a lamp on the nightstand. The Conlons were packing up the contents of their house. A farewell-slash-birthday picnic had been scheduled and Haley was doing all she could to avoid it. She told Mira bluntly that she planned to run away to the forest, to live alone or maybe with Clement if he wanted to come. For his part, Clement reported that his sister believed that if she refused to attend the picnic then Mira wouldnt be able to leave Vanishing River, as if one must receive the blessings of all before moving on. I hope youll change your mind, then, Mira said as she handed Haley a pair of

long black tights she brought with her and never wore. Can I go with you? Haleys voice barely projected enough to be heard, so Mira just pretended not to hear it. You have great responsibility. This cat is like my child. She handed Guppys food bowl and a sack of kibble to Haley. (The cat would end up belonging to Haley until she had grown into a woman.) Haley set the things on the floor. I dont want your child. Mira was kissing the cat between the ears. Thats a mean thing to say. Maybe I shouldnt be leaving the cat behind after all. Haley stared down at the floor. Yay! Happy goodbye! Mira shouted in mock excitement. Im not going to the picnic either, by the way. Haley looked up, confused. You have to go! People will get mad if you dont go. Nobody cares if I dont go. Whatever. Lets both not go. Haley stared at her, presumably waiting for Mira to explain the plan. Instead Mira said My mom told me once that if youre lucky, peoplell miss you when you go, only if youre lucky that is. And if youre really lucky, they might throw you a party to show you how they care. I don't know what you think of that, but I say screw those people. Right? I dont want to celebrate leaving. Saying goodbye is nothing to have a party about.

But, my mom is making potato salad. Hmm. Potato salad? She makes really good potato salad. Well, maybe we should go then. Tears were jarred from Haleys charged lashes, then she threw her stick arms around Miras shoulders. It was a clumsy, poorly aimed hug that lingered until they were both full of emotion. When Haley finally let go of Mira, she instead hugged the cat food bag to her chest and hurried from the room.

Kitty had to set up an extra folding table next to the picnic tables under the relief of Jorge Svenson, in what could be called the town park. In the relief he looked more like a statesman than a rugged explorer- the way many men of the Gold Rush preferred to be depicted. The baseball diamond had been reserved and Kitty brought along a croquet set from Franks garage. There were going to barbequed hamburgers and hotdogs and lots of Miras favorite- macaroni and cheese, as well as potato salad. Kitty had typed up the invitations herself on the computer at the library, which was the part she was most proud of. Kitty had had people distribute them in a tree fashion. You get one, you give one, and so on, she explained. There would be a lot people at this picnic in the park, but only one that Mira really hoped would attend.

Aida sat by the phone in the den. Are you coming to our picnic? Mira asked. She would understand if the woman wanted to avoid such a large gathering. Im in charge of the bean dip, Aida said. She stood holding a bag ready for the trash bin outside. That bag was an ominous sign. Mira envisioned herself, later that night, in competition with the raccoons, pawing through the trash for the photographs Aida was likely getting rid of. If it was Mira against the coons, she knew already who would lose and wondered what kind of stories she would have to make up for Art in order to explain herself. Speaking of pitching things Aida was casual. What do you think I ought to do with all that obsessive shit in storage? What do I think? This was Miras chance. I dont think its shit, first of all. I think it should be saved. Wasnt that your intention? To preserve? Have you thought about displaying it? I mean I guess that is what I might have done if you hadnt shown up. Display it? Oh God no, not displayed. For Christssake, in front of people? No, it should never be so exposed. No dignity in that. Awful. No, I wouldnt even consider it. Already embarrassed by her impertinence, Mira was about to offer another, even more inappropriate suggestion. What about not displayed, but maybe just published on a small scale, as part of a book?

You mean like for coffee tables? Oh Jesus, no. Im appalled you would suggest such a thing. Who would want to look at that? What the hell am I saying? She wants to burn them! Im suggesting they be framed on the wall? You have to remember what my job is. Im sorry those werent good ideas bad actually... What do you want to do with them? I mean what is your hope? I really just wanted your opinion on whether I should burn them or shred them.

It turns out there would actually be a reason to celebrate at the farewell picnic. The one hundred and forty-six acres of Bafflehaus land, once host to an Indian village, then a Christian church, an Indian burial ground, and finally a reconstructed roundhouse, had been purchased by Jo for her friend Big Lou, for far more money than anyone suspected she had. Some speculated she had been the one to steal her former friends money in the first place then burn his house down to cover it up. Another rumor was that she had stolen the churchs money- it still had never been recovered. Some called her a witch, but no one looked at Big Lou anymore the way they had begun to look at Jo. Mira suspected that Jos wealthy benefactress had bequeathed to her a generous sum before packing up her brother and their things and moving to a place called Elegant Pines forty miles up the road. Jo never revealed her affiliations, and Fay was practicing a rare silence, but according to Willy Laloon, Fay left town on her last dollar, right with God. Now, besides the roundhouse and the small bark building where Big Lou lived, the

only thing to be built on the land, as requested in the purchase contract was a new stable for Jos old horse and a few new horses, should those come along. Some nights Mira could see Jos horse grazing in the meadow right next to where the smoke rose from Big Lous cooking fire in the center of his roundhouse.

At the picnic Tark asked Mira Was it you? Who bought the Bafflehouse land for Big Lou? Me? You think I have that kind of money? Hells no! She scanned the park for one of the only people, besides Fay herself, with whom she would have been able to exchange a knowing look and still he wasnt there. If Alfonso gets here, do I offer him cake? Do I fix him a hamburger first and then offer him cake? Will he even eat a turquoise cake? Who thought turquoise was a good idea? Miras plane was to depart the next afternoon and Lloyd was scheduled to drive her to the Modesto airport early in the morning. Ill beat the rooster this time, Lloyd said. You be able to manage it? he squeezed her shoulder with a firm grip. I probably wont even sleep, so there wont be a need to wake up. That way Ill have an easier time sleeping on the airplane. You packed already? Kitty asked. She held tiny Hope who grabbed at the sky and seemed to laugh. Shes talking to the angels again, Kitty said and giggled. Mira put her finger in Hopes hand to feel the babys grip. I dont really have that

much to pack. Ive already sent so much stuff. You sure kept them guys at the post office busy. Theyre likely to miss you, Kitty added. Us too course. Youll have to come and visit in Sonora once we get all settled. Mira was quiet, digging her shoe into the soft playing field. Ill be sure to, even if it takes me a while to get back For now, I have a few last things to throw into my bag. Little stuff, but thats it. Hopefully we can make it there tomorrow without losing anything this time. Huh, Lloyd? Wheres Haley? Maybe if we bring her along we can lose something else, for old times sake. Lloyd searched the sand box for his first-born. Kitty patted her husband on the backside, Im sure Haley would like it if you forgot and left Mira here. There was Haley, walking alone along a narrow line of cottonwoods at the edge of the park. Her silhouette weaving between the trunks camouflaged her from Lloyds attention. Well be takin the truck this time. You be a lot more comfortable that way. You just watch the road and you wont get sick, Kitty added. Trucks much better. Jeep makes me sick too. They had cleared away the food down to the vinyl red-checked tablecloth by the time Mira reluctantly gave up on Alfonso. Throughout the whole picnic she had felt desperate for him. She felt desperate still. I guess maybe Ill head back.

Thats right. You have stuff to do yet. You go on. Well finish clearing things up and see you later. Then Ill hug ya goodbye.

The evening loomed heavily by the time Alfonso finally knocked on Miras doorframe. She was next to the bed, folding linens. Hellllooo, he said in the sing-songy way he liked to use. He let himself in. His proximity changed her heart rhythm, but she held an unsurprised expression. He hadnt taken off his hat. Im sorry I missed your party. Its okay, she lied. But I have a good excuse. It doesnt matter. She smiled softly, leaving out the parts about how long she had waited for him and how frustrated she was that she would never get the chance to express how she felt about him and now he was getting married, and she was leaving forever, and how he was the most wonderful person she had ever known and how she didnt realize until meeting him that people of such caliber existed, and how she had dreamed of kissing him and how badly really she still wanted that, and how badly she still wanted to make love to him and then never let another man touch her for the rest of her life, even if it was only ever just that once, and how she had resigned herself to making a deal with the devil if thats what it took to make it happen. Wanting all of these things frustrated her and she wondered why it had to be this way- with all this wanting and nothing to ever come of it.

The wanting was like a willing agony she couldnt let go of. She hated the wanting, yet anticipated its deliciousness like a savory meal. Did you hear about the land? she asked, instead. He smiled broadly and nodded. We did that. She continued folding. Yep. We did. She tried not to look at him, unsure of what her face might reveal. Hes not upset that Im leaving. It is confirmed that he never really cared. That was you and me, mostly you though. Mira, I am here because there is something you have to come for, he moved into her space. Before you go. You must see this. He motioned her to the door and looked at his watch for the third time since arriving, two minutes earlier. When do you depart? In a few hours, like early in the morning, thats when we go. Lloyd is taking me. Ive still got some things I need to ... She intended for him to say ok, and leave. But instead he waited by the door, ready with his car keys. Vente conmigo. Suddenly she didnt want any more excuses or games that attempted to make her look superior. It would just be waste of both of their time. Instead, she followed him out of the house like it was an emergency.

There were still hours of light remaining as they sped to Alfonsos house. Heavy dust swirled into the cars open windows. What is it I have to see?

A mini-truck zoomed by with a grimacing Chihuahua in the back. Mira snapped his picture and then held onto the handle above the door as Alfonso swung them around a curve. It is something I told you about a long time ago. I was hoping you would still be here to see it. Do you recall? He brought them to a lurching halt in his driveway. He looked around the yard and seemed relieved. We havent missed anything. She followed him to the rivers edge a few yards from the house, where they stopped in front of a shriveled mosquito net laying on the ground. Under it was a clipboard, a few pillows from Alfonsos couch, a stack of granola bars, and a stopwatch. Come in, he invited her. Are you propping this up with something? she nudged the netting material with her foot, scanning the area for tall sticks. You dont remember do you, he said. Once inside, she jammed a few sturdy looking maple branches into the ground. Clever, he complimented her at a very close range. She grinned. The sticks? Hmm. Just makes sense to prop it up. I dont know what for yet, though. Ephemerellidae Tibialis. Her face contorted involuntarily. The Creamy Orange Mayfly. Tonight is their entire adult lifespan; This night. He pointed downward. Right now they are still adolescents. He looked at his watch again.

Can you see them? Orange Mayflies? Where do I look? In the trees, he gestured. Those are the young adults; subimagoes, getting ready to molt. This afternoon they were nymphs and came out from the water, dried off enough to fly, then went to the trees. Mira concentrated on the row of willows beyond the river, but she couldnt see any of the subimagoes. You see, Alfonso continued, theyve been in the river all year as eggs and then larve, but now their lives will culminate. Is it the right word? Only last night they came out of the water for the first time. And tonight, in a few hours they will take flight. In their tiny berth, Mira wrapped her arms around her knees. Alfonso didnt seem to feel the cold at all. He said, The imagoes will mate. Its kind of funny actually. The males swarm together and it is the females who will do the choosing. You mean like the opposite of the way people do it? she smirked. So you feel you must be chosen, Mira? he smirked back. Isnt that what you mean when you say its funny? He sucked his teeth. But, you are not a mayfly, corazon. He looked at her after he said it and maybe because they were sitting so near, it came off like a scold. Then he went on, The females will fly into the swarm of males and choose their mates. Do you

remember when I told you about this? Yes, they will pull their choice of male out and do a sort of dance with them in the air. Up and down, up and down. Sounds erotic, Mira arched a brow. For bugs, that is. He said, You must listen about this: The males in the imago state are only able to mate. They have no stomach. Where they once had a stomach it is now only sperm. They cant eat ever again. They live for a single purpose. Miras neck felt warm. There was too little space in the tent. After they mate, the females go down to the water and lay their eggs. Then both male and female die. It happens very quickly. Mira was beginning to notice more and more of the subimagoes in the trees. All in one night? I guess I do remember you telling me about that. The bugs appeared to be resting, almost panting, preparing for the one chance they would have to be adults, to be alive, to choose another. They would get their second and last chances at flight, their only chance at sex, and then their lives would end. Alfonso watched through binoculars, fascinated just as Mira watched through her camera, depressed. Then whats the point? Point? Alfonso was perplexed. Whats the point if theyre just going to live for one night? Their purpose is to mate and create the next generation, to be food for swimmers in the river; fish, frogs birds. He flipped through pages of his clipboard and then started,

stopped, and reset the tarnished stopwatch, which he then lay in front of them. There isnt much time for any of it in this case. But whats the point? Mira could feel the exasperation escaping through her voice. This wasnt what she thought she had come there for. He took the binoculars from his face. His look was stern. It is to be alive. Mira rested her chin in her hand and breathed against the roof of her mouth. He turned to her again. You are looking at something living thats almost as ancient as Earth, okay? They have not changed since the dinosaurs, and theyll probably be here when people like us are extinct. What youre watching is eternity in one night. It might look hopeless to you, but if they dont make this effort tonight, then others like them wont get the same chance next year that theyre getting right now. And if this hadnt already happened billions and billions of times before then you would not be sitting here watching it now. Mira took the binoculars from him. It will be very important to record exactly when it happens and for how long the swarm lasts. You help? He was assuming she would. That made her not sure if she wanted to. Is that why Im here? You needed an assistant? she stared into the encroaching night. They listened to the crickets chirp in the brush and smelled the air- cooled by hovering over the water. Close to her ear, almost whispering, as if he was narrating a nature documentary

from a blind, Alfonso said, The Creamy Orange Mayfly hasnt been seen in this river for hundreds of years. Some of the local native population shares stories about them being here many generations ago, but that is all I know. Many generations, no dates. I do know there used to be a paper mill up river. Its gone now, but it devastated this ecosystem. The chemicals? You sound like a nature show, by the way. Do I? Yes, too much toxicity. Thats why this is interesting, because the presence of a mayfly population indicates the health of a river. And now we are the first to witness this particular family reemerging. Ive lived here for four years and this is the first group Ive observed. A trout leaped to gulp a lazy subimago just emerging from the surface of the water. I was pretty good at fishing, wasnt I? she reminded him. You were, he agreed.

It took almost two hours for the new imagoes to molt their exoskeletons and grow mature. Sitting under the net Mira and Alfonso talked somnolently, speculating about how Fay came to her decision to quietly purchase the land for the Miwoks. They discussed Big Lous new status as a shaman of his tribe, and about Aidas homecoming and what might happen with Ruthy now that her mother had returned for her. They talked about everything they could until there was nothing left but for Alfonso to say what he had been trying to talk around. And you know that I am now engaged. It seemed to slip from the dark, like

slow gunfire to Miras gut. She listed away from him. I knew you were planning on it. I assumed you did. Congratulations Saying it made the air come more easily into her lungs. Im happy for you. She meant those words as sincerely as one can when one hears that the person they love, loves another. Her eyes filled with tears. No matter how much she tried, she couldnt stop it. If he sees you crying he will know. It was time, he explained. She is the girl of my life. Miras nod was mechanical. Alfonso stared down at the grass. And they sat like that for an uncomfortable stretch of time. Neither of them had yet mustered the capacity to frame their thoughts with words. When Alfonso finally did look up, his expression was not like any Mira had seen on any face before; a heavy mixture of apology and adoration. So unexpected was the look that its presence startled her. He laced his long fingers together, How can I say this? She wanted to touch his cheek as he spoke, but instead she too laced her fingers together. After I knew you his voice was low, I began to question certain things about what I thought I knew in my life. For a while this meant I could not see you. Does this make sense? She nodded with an inkling of what he was getting at, feeling that maybe she was being robbed of the best thing she never had. Inwardly, her fists punched holes in the walls

of her office. He explained that every admission of his feelings to her, no matter how subtle, felt like a betrayal of his fianc. Are you understanding what I say? And he must have hoped she did, because he stopped explaining. For Mira it was an ecstatic shock that lingered until she was able to look up at the imagoes taking flight from the branches. Excitedly she pointed a hand toward the trees. Alfonso lurched for the stopwatch. The swarm of mating mayflies darted about in their dynamic cloud; Flying and diving in a precarious dance. They lit against the ochre sunset like silver confetti tossed into the air; a glittering mass above the river. Mira brought out her digital camera. This was too beautiful not to capture. The twilight gleamed with mayflies. She then tuned her camera on Alfonso; Something she had been meaning to for many months. He smiled softly at her. This is happening, he said excitedly as the insects formed a nebula. At various moments their tent seemed to be engulfed. These are the ones Ive been watching all year. Now they are mature, winged adults, and I have to watch them die. He leaned his head on top of Miras causing in her a glow, followed by the sick frustration of wanting something from him that she had no right to. She wanted somehow to take a part of him away with her that would mark ownership of his feelings; an emotional souvenir; Something more than just a picture. I want to confess to you, he spoke into her ear. I see you every time I close my eyes sometimes even to blink.

She plunged her face into her hands. I want this, but not this way! It wont do either of us any good if I tell him how I feel. But I think I must have learned how to speak entirely in preparation for this one moment. Telling him seems like the only thing I have ever truly needed to say- I know that cant be true but that is how I feel- but the crickets arent loud enough and theres a brick in my throat and if I say it then hell have a piece of me and Ill have nothing. Her mouth fevered. Why did you get engaged? His answer did not come immediately. Because she is my past and my future. Like a loadstone, Mira was alternately attracted and repelled. I guess I know where that leaves me. Aware of what he could not offer, he sat with her quietly. I am his present. Her eyes became pools in the darkness. Could that be so bad? She desperately wished they could both stop being who they were for long enough to end this ordeal of longing. He pulled her toward him and her eyes overflowed onto his neck. He left it wet, perhaps wanting to absorb her salt into his skin. Using the tips of his fingers he began to unlace one of her boots. I think of you when I wake up, he said. Her heart felt bursting, saturated to the point of flood. She tried to stop him from touching her shoes by attempting to hold his hands. I think of you as I work. I come home at night and think of you. Then I go to sleep

and I have dreams about you. When he stopped speaking the blood that had flooded her veins suddenly felt as if it had halted and begun to coagulate into a single, jellied mass. The feet; This was always where the panic unleashed for Mira. She pulled away abruptly. I cant just be your present. Understood, he said, but he continued untying her boots. Im not asking you to be anything. Please, she begged curtly, wishing he were trying to take her top off instead. He put his hands in his lap, one inside the other. Im sorry, he muttered and his embarrassment was palpable. Her heart ached so hard for him. I have ugly feet, she said. Mine are also very ugly. He wiggled his toes, his attention focused entirely on their movements. To Mira, his feet were unbearably beautiful. In fact, she wanted to put his toes in her mouth. It was a pervasive image and suddenly all she could think of doing. Please, she said, just leave them. Im sorry, but I dont like people looking at my feet. I have never seen them. Have I? No. You havent. Why? Theyre horrible, her face was reddening in the darkness.

He started making notes while she looked through the binoculars in the dim light supplied by his book lamp. Tears fell from under the binocular viewing lenses. He was not finished with his notes when he reached up and turned the lamp off. He took her ankle and held it gently. He must already know. Satisfied that she could not see his hand there so close to that unbearable part, she thought Just let it happen, Mira. Breathe in and out and let it happen. Slowly he started again to unlace her boot. He was deliberate so that she could stop him if she wanted, but instead she tried just to watch in the blue glow, as he set each boot down before peeling off a sock. Every moment of this stripping she expected to feel regret at what she was allowing him to do. She placed her hand on his shoulder to brace her weight as he lifted her heel into his palm. The imagoes became fewer. Mira shivered at her nakedness in front of him. Terror moved through her like a drug. He remained quiet as he traced the dense scar tissue that ran along the outside of her left foot with his fingers. The night concealed only the scars mottled purple-pink color. Las cicatrices dicen de nuestra vida. What is that? she asked. Scars tell the stories of our lives, he said and put his arm around her waist

guiding her foot to his lap where he began massaging the tough webby skin as if he had touched things like it before; and the truth was he had much worse in fact, but those were not stories for this night. A sob escaped her throat, until another one crowded in, and then another before they subsided to child-like snuffles. With her left leg crossed over in front of her she allowed herself to lean into him for balance, and they sat like that for a while as she explained what had happened to her and how she barely remembered the incident; how the years of shame that followed had become the real trauma. As a child, she had seen enough faces turn away from her deformity aghast, that she resolved early on to hide it from everyone for the rest of her life. But that had proven to be a laborious edict, and over the years ridiculously, she had allowed thoughts of her missing toes to take over her life. I believed everything would be perfect if my foot was normal. I figured that without my toes I could never be who I wanted. Isnt that crazy? I know how stupid it sounds now, but sometimes when things go wrong I sort of blame the foot, I guess. You failed, Mira, and its all because of the foot. The Mayflies were dying. Their gathered cloud had dwindled to three or four separate puffs. I guess I figured my life could never be complete with a part missing which Im never getting back anyway. Everyone else always seemed so whole by comparison. I can never be whole enough without them for anyone to look at me. I know its wrong but

doesnt that make sense? I have always felt so sorry for anyone who has had to look at my foot, even me. Even for a second. He stroked the webby scar with greater force, trying to rub it away for her. When I was in grade-school whenever anyone asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up I always said a scientist. I thought, or I prayed that I was going to grow up and invent a way to grow new toes. It was the only thing in life I thought would ever make me happy. Her eyes were puffy and dry when she finally directly addressed Alfonso on the subject. How gross is it? It was too warm outside to be so close to another body, but he didnt let go of her. Sweat collected between the places their skin touched. He shook his head, which rubbed his chin against her forehead. Bad? she asked again, selfishly needing to hear his voice. Understanding he was somewhere no other man had been, he croaked, It is not. But he had to utter that simple phrase twice, in order to get it out. She leaned back and brought both her hands to his face and held it, cupped there in front of hers. The courage he had born in her was like a net. She held on to that face firmly, as much to keep him close, as to keep him away. She held it there without thinking of his fianc in Mexico, without thinking of how he did not choose her, or did choose her in his mind or his stomach but not in his life, without thinking about her foot between them. I think of you in the morning. She searched for his eyes; they were limpid wells of night. She

felt her face drawn toward his as if in a vortex. At night, I have dreams about you. Her lips went numb. Why cant I do this for me? For both of us? What has changed? What has changed in me? She transferred her need to touch his lips with hers by stroking his face instead. Kissing him was such a strong desire that it had become nearly forbidden. She massaged his cheeks as if she were trying to burn them with her friction. If she wasnt going to kiss him, she would leave her mark instead in the form of a blister. I could hurt you with my lust. Im so mad at you, Alfonso, she whispered hard, her eyes inches from his. He exhaled and crushed his warmth into the hair above her ear, making his words indelible. I would fuck you right here if I thought it would bring me any peace in this world. God, you know I would. She gasped lightly. It was the first time she had ever heard him curse or directly address God. She wondered if he had said it more to himself than to her, his comment conveying equal parts torment and pleasure in her presence. She was stirred beyond a threshold she knew to exist. There was no one there to see them; No one to report on their actions. The darkness was like a blackout. She would leave the next day. Whatever happened, they could leave it on the riverbank with the dying mayflies. They didnt let go of one another, shifting only when they had to, afraid that any movement might cause the other to sever the grasp they had arrived at. She drank in the

smell of him, absorbing the heat from his skin; lying with her ear to his chest; privileged just to be so close to his pulse. He pulled both of their shirts up so that the skin of their bellies touched, and he clutched her shoulders tightly against him long after his arms had grown tired. Their bare legs were tangled in a jumble and at the bottom of the heap his right foot touched her left, and they stayed that way. She knew they would never write letters or emails or visit one another, and before sleeping she wondered how she would be able to let him go in less time than it would take her to fly from California back to New York. Alfonso exhaled heavily beneath her, running his fingers down her vertebra from the base of her head to the end of her tailbone. The smell of her hair and the contours of her body against him worked like the drug that had been in her, causing him to shiver uncontrollably. It was nearly impossible for either of them to drift off to sleep that way.

From across the river, the soft radiance of dawn through the branches of a buckeye winced Mira awake. Alfonso lay perfectly still, asleep beneath her. The words awoke in her and whispered but did not shout. I love you. She glanced at her watch: 5:15 a.m. Looking at his sleeping face, the sadness like death that had filled her dissolved into acceptance, and with it the forlorn inevitability of separation became the courage to walk away whole. He had loved her. Forever after she would know: He loved me all along. He

will always love me. She lowered herself and touched her lips to his forehead. He did not stir. She hazarded to brush her lips along the bridge of his nose. I will take this with me. She slithered out of the netting as quietly as she could, which wasnt actually very quiet. It made her wonder if he was only pretending to be so asleep and had felt her so near to him. She wouldnt mind if he had noticed, for she wanted him somehow to understand how shed loved him too. The mayflies were all gone. Only a few of their bodies had been missed by the Mosquitofish and Speckledace, now fattened off the nights bounty. She lifted her boots and socks out from under the net after her to put on once she reached the end of the driveway where she would be less likely to wake Alfonso. It had been many years, in fact almost a lifetime, since her bare feet had touched dewy grass. It tickled and the sensation caused her to giggle. The innocent giggle quickly escalated into a disabling fit of laughter. Unable to control the onslaught, she tried to subdue her snorts and cackles, wishing not to disturb Alfonso sleeping a few yards away. Her efforts to quell the jollity only worsened it and she began to roar until she was doubled over, falling off the rock she had been using as a stool. Enfeebled, she surrendered to laugh freely and harder than she thought she ever had- the very fact of which kept her in stitches all the more. It very nearly hurt to laugh so hard and she wondered if she might pass out from lack of oxygen. Her sides hardened into cramps, the pain of which was somehow hilarious. She was willing to let that happen, there was no choice- for she was at the mercy of the mirth that had overtaken her.

Once her merriment finally subsided to he-he's and t-he-hes she was left happily weary. By then, she had been at the end of Alfonsos driveway for over ten minutes just trying to get her boots on. There was still enough time for her walk home to be languorous. The morning mist left a light dampness on her skin as she wended through town for the final time. She watched a nighthawk hunting and a pair of mourning doves sipping at a puddle, undisturbed as she went by. Mira was surprised to notice that even after leaving him, the thought of Alfonso made her smile. She slapped her forehead gently, and then her cheeks. It just hasnt hit me yet. She stopped to dig her camera out of her backpack. She brought up the photo she had taken of him. Its in the eyes. The magic dust is in his eyes.

At her house, tucked above the front doorknob was an envelope from Aida containing the photograph Mira feared had been destroyed. Gratefully, she placed it between the pages of a book and tucked it into her carry-on. With few exceptions, the room was as she found it nearly a year before. Closing the door behind her, she suddenly remembered removing a cross from the wall and went back to kneel down and retrieve it from under the bed. Next to the cross, laying face-down and covered with dust was a small square Mira instantly recognized: the picture of Art she believed all this time had been lost. Most likely, it had slipped from the bottom corner of her empty portfolio the morning she

used it as a snake shield. It would have been easy to turn the white backing over to confirm her belief, to see Arts face again, to know for herself if he looked as she remembered himbut instead she left it alone on the floorboards, next to the cross. She hoisted her things into Lloyds truck in front of a sunrise so glorious she wished she had gotten up that early every day; A flaming vista of red sand dunes, strawberry cream-capped peaks, deep blue ocean waves. From second to second it morphed, drawing renewed attention to previously humble clouds in its periphery. She pushed her pillow and blanket into the trucks cab ahead of her, and a few seconds later waved goodbye to everything, and to no one, as Lloyd drove her out of town the way he had driven her in; the trucks tires kicking up a little dust through which Mira took her last glimpse of Vanishing River and was overcome by the awareness that she was seeing the place for the last time, and the first time, in the very same instant.