Palindrome

CHAPTER 13

Liz was driving through the woods south of Lake Whitney when the road crossed an earthen dike, and something caught her eye. She stopped the Jeep and walked quietly, slowly, back onto the dike. The creatures had not moved. On a mud bank below the dike were arrayed at least a dozen baby alligators, none longer than about fifteen inches, she reckoned.

She returned to the Jeep and started unloading equipment. She chose the 4 X 5 Deardorff field camera and a heavy, wooden tripod, then grabbed her big bag, full of lenses and sheet film. She practically tiptoed back onto the dike and started looking for the best vantage point, which involved edging slowly down the bank of the dike toward the water. She stopped. A large log floated in the water a few feet from where she stood. Where there are little alligators, she told herself, there are big alligators, and alligators look like logs in the water. She examined it closely. It was a log. Heaving a sigh of relief, she began to set up her equipment. Soon, she had set up the tripod with one leg in the water and was fixing a 305-mm lens to the boxy camera. She wanted a tight shot. She heard an odd, high-pitched, guttural sound coming from the direction of the young reptiles; she peeked at them from under the cloth. The little alligators sat motionless, seeming to ignore her. The log was drifting slowly away, moved by the ripples when she disturbed the water. Her position was awkward. She was at the bottom of the bank, having a hard time setting up her shot. She shook off a moccasin and gingerly put a foot into the water, looking carefully about for snakes.

The water was cool to the touch; she felt for the bottom and, wrinkling her nose, pushed down through the ooze until she met firm resistance.

Now she was in a sitting position behind the camera; she got her head under the black cloth and began framing and focusing. It was a good shot. She squeezed the cable release, hoping the click would not frighten the little creatures. They kept perfectly still, and she loaded another sheet of film, rechecking her exposure meter; she went under the cloth for a second shot. Then the log came to life. Under the cloth, she was aware of a heavy splashing, combined with a hiss that quickly became a roar. From her awkward position, she wrenched her foot from the sticky bottom and started crawling, backward, up the dike, giving a fine view of what was coming after her. Time slowed to nothing; everything seemed to move in the slowest of motion. The enormous alligator seemed to walk on the water as it came toward her, jaws agape, making its awful noise. Instinctively, she tried to put the camera between her and the gator as she moved backward on her hands, pushing with her feet. There was screaming coming from somewhere, and she realized it was from her. On the gator came, starting up the bank after her. The camera fell toward it, and a leg of the seasoned hardwood tripod went into the beast's mouth, immediately becoming splinters. On she traveled, backward in this slow-motion nightmare that would never end. She reached the roadbed at the top of the dike, the gator in pursuit, and began trying to get her feet under her, stumbling, scraping her knuckles until she was running, running, afraid to look back. Then, when she thought she could spare a look back, she ran into something that held on to her. "Easy, easy," he was saying, "just come over here to the Jeep. It's all right, now, he's gone." Liz was gulping great lungsful of air, sobbing, whimpering. "Just calm down, now, you're all right," Keir Drummond was saying, repeating himself in a soothing, rhythmic voice. He took her under the arms and sat her on the passenger seat of the Jeep.

"Where… did you… come from?" she gasped.

"I wasn't spying on you, if that's what you mean. I was just here."

"Spying is okay," she said, wiping the tears from her face with the back of her hand. "Just as long as you're here."

"I didn't save your life or anything, you know. You did that. I was just here to keep you from running all the way to Greyfield."

"I would have, too," she said, nearly laughing, shaking as she said it. Keir reached out and pulled her into his arms. He said nothing, just held her head in one hand while he rubbed her back with the other. Liz could feel her heart pounding against her rib cage, against him. She held on to him tightly and cried. He was warm and safe and she just wanted to hold on to him for five or six weeks. He kissed her ear and made shushing noises.

Gradually, she got control of herself and gently pushed herself away from him. "My camera," she said, finally. "Did the sonofabitch get my camera?"

"You stay here, and I'll have a look," he said. She watched him as he walked onto the dike and edged cautiously down to the water, looking around him. She was astonished at how close to her the spot was; she felt as if she'd run at least half a mile. He came back with the camera, the splintered tripod still attached, and, in the other hand, her shoe. "The camera looks okay," he said. "I don't think it got into the water." He returned to the spot and brought back her bag.

"You're still in business, but with a bipod."

"I've got a lighter one," she said, sadly unscrewing the camera from the wrecked tripod, "but it's not heavy enough for the view camera."

"I'll fix it for you," he said.

"It'll never be the same. I'll just have to order another one from Zone VI." She looked at her watch. "It's cocktail time," she said. "I'll buy you a drink, and, if you're brave, I'll cook you some dinner."

"I'm brave enough for that," he said.

They sat on the deck over the wreckage of their dinner, bathed in the light of a hurricane lamp, and finished off a second bottle of wine. Liz was feeling very warm and cozy and not a little drunk. She watched him as they talked and marveled at the difference between Keir and his brother. This twin emanated warmth-the corners of his eyes and mouth worked differently; a sense of humor was there behind the eyes. She wanted him, and she pushed back the irrationality of her feelings. She had not slept with many men, and she had always been cautious about it.

"How big do you reckon Goliath was?" Keir asked. "Nobody's seen him for years."

"Oh, about seventy-five feet," she said.

"I didn't ask you how big he seemed." Keir laughed. "Really. I'd like to know."

"I swear, I don't have a clue," Liz said.

"He was one hell of a lot bigger than anything I ever saw at a Florida reptile farm, and I think I saw one about twelve feet there when I was little, when Daddy and Mother took me to the beach one time."

"You were very lucky," Keir said. "I wish I had been there a little earlier so that I could have fought him off with my bare hands. Then you'd be pitifully grateful." She smiled at him.

"I'm pitifully grateful that you were there at all." She swirled the wine in her glass. "So where have you been since I last saw you? Following me around?"

He raised a hand. "I promise you, I haven't. I really was just passing."

"On the way to where?"

"No place in particular. I just roam, sometimes. I've been away a long time, and I miss Cumberland. I guess I've been pretending I was a little boy again, hunting with Buck Moses."

"Have you seen Buck?"

"Yes, the first day. He'd know I was here, even if I didn't look him up. He's like that."

"Have you seen your grandfather?"

"Yes, a couple of times. I had lunch at Dungeness yesterday. It was quite like the old days."

"You should see him more often."

"The old man isn't as lonely as you think. He's very selfcontained; he doesn't like much company. He just likes his island around."

"Have you seen Germaine?"

"We had a drink last night and caught up. I told her I'd met you."

"Seen anybody else?" She watched him closely. "No one else to see." He picked up her hand and inspected the palm, turning it toward the lamp.

"Long life line. A break in it, near the end of the first third of your life. Means a major change." He picked at more lines with his fingers. "Change for the better," he said. "True?"

"It would almost have to be," she said.

"You want to tell me about it?"

"No. Not now, anyway. I'd rather hear about you. What do you do? How do you support yourself?"

"I write. Not a hell of a lot, but I write. I'm good at it. It doesn't support me, but there's a little money from my parents that keeps me from having to write when I don't want to."

"Where have you been living most recently?" she asked, framing the question carefully.

She didn't want generalities. "Rome."

"Where in Rome?"

"I have a little flat in the Piazza Navona. It gets the sun in the mornings and the shade in the afternoons."

She reached for his hand. "Let me have a look at your palm, now." He closed it.

"You don't want to know too much." She wrinkled her brow. He reached out and massaged her forehead with his fingertips. "No furrows there, please. No worries, especially about me." Then, as if he had done it before, he moved his hand to her cheek and kissed her lips. As if she had done it before, she kissed him back.

He pulled her to her feet and put his arms around her, kissing her again. She responded more easily than she would have believed possible.

For the moment, she had no past, and his didn't matter. Soon, without seeming to walk, they were in her bed and naked. She received him easily, lustily, and they made each other happy. This is just physical, she told herself, just something I need at this moment. Sometime in the night, she felt him leave the bed, and she fell asleep, expecting him to return. He did not. The next morning, she woke feeling all rosy; then she remembered the night and suddenly felt guilty. Why? She was a grown-up; she could sleep with whom she liked. She thought about it until she had rationalized away the guilt and was left with only a warm, sweet memory.