A Ship Made of Paper

[14]

Daniel and Iris rearrange their clothes.They are reeling.Their legs are weak.Desire summoned but unresolved leaves them nervous yet vague, like people awakened while dreaming.

“Wait here,”Iris whispers, her lips an inch from his mouth.She turns to leave but he catches her, stops her, just to show that he can.She slips away from him and hurries out ofthe cellar, he hears the heels ofher shoes clacking against the wooden stairs,bang bang,it’s like being buried alive and listening to the hammer driving the nails into the coffin.

He waits, and when he finally comes back upstairs, he is still trembling, but no one pays attention to his arrival, no one asks where he’s been, or what the matter is.They are gathered in front ofFerguson, who is addressing them all.

“All right, then,”he’s saying,“here’s what we’re going to do.First, I want to thank you all for your help.My family appreciates it and I ap-preciate it, and I think ifwe go out there, and just do this in an orderly way, we’ll find Marie before she hurts herself.The police have been in-formed, but there’s not a hell ofa lot they can do right now.I don’t know what we’re paying our taxes for, but it’s not for helicopters.So it’ll be up to us.”

Nine men and five women volunteer to form a search party to find poor Marie.Everything capable and charismatic in Ferguson is on display as he addresses the volunteers.His voice is powerful, confident;he has even produced a topographical map ofhis holdings, and he stands before it now and taps at it with his blunt, oil-stained forefinger.

“This is where we are right now.The house is right in the center of the property, plus or minus three degrees.We can radiate out from the house, and since we’ll have seven teams, each team can cover roughly a forty-five-degree slice ofthe pie.”

Susan has come up close beside him.Her expression is at once proprietary and serene, like a cat about to stretch out next to something it has killed.She is holding a large wicker basket with both hands;it is filled with what appear to be thick, red cigars, with pictures ofmedieval lions printed on them.

Gathered in the entrance hall, beneath the stained and sagging grandeur ofthe painted ceiling, the volunteers choose their partners.

Daniel doesn’t care whom he is paired with, as long as it’s not Hampton, but luck would have it otherwise.Hampton may not like Daniel but at least he knows him, however uneasily, and without actually saying any-thing he stands next to Daniel, as iftheir searching for Marie together is a foregone conclusion.

“We need a way ofsignaling when we find her,”Susan is saying.“I’ve got Roman candles and everyone should take one.Ifyou find her, light the fuse, and the rest ofthe search party will know.”

“Where did you get those?”asks Ferguson.

”Remember when we had that Burmese purification ceremony two Septembers ago?”Susan says, dropping the basket onto the floor.She cannot help reflecting upon how Ferguson had mocked the ritual, as he mocked all rituals, or anything new—except the ritual ofinfidelity and the novelty ofa new young body.“Help yourselves,”she says.She figures that everyone here knows that Ferguson is screwing Marie, and probably they assume that Marie has fled the house because Susan finally told that little whore what she thinks ofher—and they are essentially correct in that assumption, though“finally”might not be the right word, since Marie has known ofSusan’s enmity all along, and why she picked today ofall days to overreact is anybody’s guess.Ofone thing, however, Susan is certain:Marie will try to find a way ofturning this irritating little drama to her own advantage.

“Be careful,”Susan announces, as the guests take the Roman candles out ofthe basket.“They pack quite a wallop.”

The search party files out ofthe foyer, onto the porch.Daniel and Hampton head south-southwest, across a ruined expanse ofwild grass that soon leads to a dense wood ofpine, locust, maple, and oak.

Once they are in the woods, the remains ofthe afternoon light seem to shrink away.The shadows ofthe trees—a shocking number ofwhich have fallen to the ground from the weight ofOctober’s sudden snow-storm—seem to pile on top ofeach other, one shadow over the next, building a wall ofdarkness.There had always been paths through the woods, made by the herds ofdeer that traversed these acres, or left over from the old days when there had been enough money to maintain and even manicure the Richmond holdings.But the October storm had dropped thousands oftrees, and the paths are somewhere beneath them, invisible now.Daniel and Hampton can’t take two steps without having to scramble over the canopy ofa fallen tree, or climb over a trunk, or a crisscross oftrunks, slippery with rot.And where there aren’t fallen trees there are thorny blackberry vines that furl out across the forest floor like a sharp, punishing fog.

Here and there are little white throw rugs ofsnow.

”These vines are like razor wire,”says Daniel.Everything he says seems potentially disastrous, every word packed with black powder and a short fuse.

“Damn!”said Hampton.A snarl ofvines has caught his cuffs, and as he yanks his leg free, the thorn tears his skin right through his sock.

“Are you all right?”Daniel says.They are halfway up a gentle slope—

it seems to Daniel that ifthey could get to the top ofthe hill, they might be able to seeoverthe trees and gain some sense ofwhere they are.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”Hampton touches his ankle and then looks at his fingertip:red.“I just wish Ferguson took care ofhis own mess.”

“You mean Marie?”

“He’s sleeping with her in his house, with his wife there.Insanity.

What does the man expect?”Even now, he speaks formally, his voice deep and honeyed, every syllable distinct.

“Not this, probably.”Daniel stands ten feet from Hampton.He feels moisture from the forest floor seeping through the thin soles ofhis Sun-day shoes.“Anyhow, are we really sure Fergie’s sleeping with Marie?”

“That’s what Iris tells me,”Hampton says.“Ferguson’s known Marie since she was a little girl.And since he and Susan don’t have children, it’s like a sublimated incest.”

“Is that what Iris says?”

“Hasn’t she said it to you?”Hampton asks, raising his eyebrows.

Oh Jesus, he’s closing in,thinks Daniel.

They walk.The crunch oftheir footsteps.The cries ofinvisible birds.

Daniel cups his hands around his mouth and calls Marie’s name, silenc-ing the birds.The noise oftheir footsteps on the brittle layer ofdried leaves that covers the forest floor is like a saw going tirelessly back and forth.They have no idea where they are going.

They zigzag around fallen trees and swirls ofbramble.Daniel walks in front.He looks over his shoulder.Hampton is having a hard time keep-ing his balance.

“I’m ruining these shoes,”Hampton says.He leans against a partially fallen cherry tree and looks at the sole ofhis English cordovan.The leather is shiny, rosy, and moist, like a human tongue.

“Are you all right?”asks Daniel.

Hampton nods curtly.“I hate the woods,”he says.“I don’t even like trees.I prefer landscape that’s flat and open, where you can see what’s out there.”

“Well, you’re a long-range planner,”says Daniel.“So that figures.”

Hampton frowns.He seems to be questioning Daniel’s right to be making glib generalizations about him.

“My wife tells me she sees a lot ofyou during the week,”he says.

“Well, you know, the kids,”Daniel says.“Kate’s daughter worships your son.It’s Nelson this and Nelson that.Constantly.”

Hampton tries to remember the little girl’s name.He recalls it was the name ofone ofhis aunts—but his mother has four sisters by blood and three stepsisters, and then all those sisters-in-law.Hampton was raised in a swirling, scolding vortex oflarge, vivid women.

“It’s like seeing what it’ll be like when Ruby falls in love,”says Daniel.

Ah, right:Ruby.Actually, none ofhis aunts had that name, no one came any closer to that than his aunt Scarlet, a well-powdered librarian, whose upper arms were like thighs, and who, nevertheless, was usually in a sleeveless dress, which displayed not only her fleshy arms but her vaccination, a raised opacity ofskin and scar the size ofa pocket watch.

And Scarlet wasn’t even her name—it was Charlotte, but one ofthe other nephews mispronounced it and Scarlet stuck.

Hampton presses a button on the side ofhis watch, the dial lights up like a firefly for a moment.

“It’s almost five o’clock.”

“It’ll be dark soon,”says Daniel.“I wonder ifanyone’s found her.”

“This is so messed up.”

“Marie!”Daniel shouts, but his voice drops like an anvil ten feet in front ofhim.

“I have to be on the nine o’clock train tonight.That Monday morning train’s no good for me.”

Daniel keeps quiet about that, though he is by now, ofcourse, fully aware ofHampton’s hours ofdeparture and arrival.Infidelity is an ugly business, but it makes you a stickler for detail.You’re an air traffic con-troller and the sky is stacked up with lies, all ofthem circling and circling, the tips oftheir wings sometimes coming within inches ofeach other.

They reach the top ofthe small hill, but the sight lines are no better than below.The only sky they can see is directly above them, gray, going black.

“What do you think?”says Daniel.

”I think we’re lost,”Hampton says, shaking his head.

“Next they’ll be sending a search party after us,”Daniel says.He notices something on the ground and peers more closely at it.A dead coy-ote like a flat gray shadow.Sometimes at night, he and Kate could hear coyotes in the distance, a pack whipping themselves up into a frenzy of howls and yips, but this desiccated pelt, eyeless, tongueless, is the clos-est he has come to actually seeing one.

“What do you have there?”Hampton asks.

”The animal formerly known as coyote,”Daniel says.

Breaking offa low, bare branch from a dead hemlock, Daniel pokes the coyote’s remains.Curious, Hampton stands next to him.A puffof colorless dust rises up.The world seems so deeply inhospitable—but, of course, it isn’t:they are just in the part ofit that isn’t made for them.

Here, it is for deer, foxes, raccoons, birds and mice and hard-shelled in-sects, fish, toads, sloths, maggots.Hampton steps back and covers his mouth and nose with his hand, as ifbreathing in the little puffthat has arisen from the coyote will imperil him.Iris has often bemoaned her husband’s fastidiousness, his loathing ofmess, his fear ofgerms.He has turned the controls oftheir water heater up and now the water comes out scalding, hot enough to kill most household bacteria.There are pump-and-squirt bottles ofantibacterial soap next to every sink in the house;ifIris has a cold, Hampton sleeps in the guest room, and ifNel-son has so much as a sniffle, Hampton will eschew kissing the little boy good night, he will shake hands with him instead and then, within min-utes, he’ll be squirting that bright emerald-green soap into his palm.

An immense oak tree lies on the ground;Hampton rests his foot on it and then shouts Marie’s name.The veins on his neck swell;Daniel has a sense ofwhat it would be like to deal with Hampton’s temper, about which he has heard a great deal from Iris.No wonder Iris hasn’t told Hampton a thing.She is afraid.How could I have not seen it before?Daniel wonders.She has not told him, she will never tell him, and if she does Hampton will kill her.Or me.

Discouraged, exhausted, Hampton sits on the fallen tree—and immediately springs up again.He has sat upon the Roman candle in his back pocket and it split in two.He quickly pulls it out, with frantic gestures, as ifit might explode, and tosses the top halfofthe candy-striped card-board tubing as far from him as he can.

Now his back pocket is filled with the Roman candle’s black powder, a mixture ofsaltpeter, sulfur, arsenic, and strontium.If I kick him in the ass, he might explode,thinks Daniel.He has a vision ofHampton blasting off, sailing high above the tree line, smoke pouring out ofhis behind.

Suddenly, in the distance is a pop, and then a plume ofiridescent smoke rises above the trees, a vivid tear in the dark silken sky.

“Someone’s got her,”Daniel says.“I just saw a flare.”

Hampton looks up.Only a small circle ofsky is visible through the encirclement oftrees.“What’s a damn blind girl doing out here? Even with eyes you can’t make your way.”

“She was raised here,”Daniel says.“Her father was the caretaker.She came back to look after him when he got sick.Smiley.”

“Smiley?What do you mean?”

“That’s what everyone called him.I used to see him in town whenI

was a kid.”

Hampton shakes his head.“These people, they’re living in another century.They got their old family retainers, their fox-hunting clubs, their ice boats, they play tennis with these tiny little wooden racquets, and New Year’s Eve they put on the rusty tuxedos their grandfathers used to wear.”

“They can be pretty absurd,”Daniel says.“They’re halfmad, but it’s okay, ifyou have a sense ofhumor about it.”

“That was the first thing Iris ever said about you, how you have this terrific sense ofhumor.”

“Class clown,”says Daniel.“In my case, middle class.”

Hampton is still pinching black powder out ofhis back pocket, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger.He tosses the powder into the darkness, as ifscattering ashes after a cremation.He rakes a handful of dead leaves offofa wild cherry tree, one that is still standing, and uses them to wipe his hands.“I used to make Iris laugh all the time.”

“I used to make Kate laugh, too,”says Daniel.He says it because he has to say something.He cannot simply let Hampton go on about Iris and not say anything in reply.It would be too strange, and it would be suspi-cious, too.“First couple ofyears, I had her in hysterics.”

He notices that Hampton’s shaved head has suffered a scrape.There’s a little red worm ofblood on the smooth scalp.

“Kate doesn’t think you’re funny anymore?”

“No, she doesn’t,”Daniel says.

”Iris thinks you’re funny.Maybe you’re funnier around her.”

“Maybe she’s just very kind.”

“Or very lonely.”

As far as Daniel is concerned, this is torture.It might be better just to come out with it, tell Hampton:I love Iris, and it seems she loves me.We belong together.We do feel bad…Oh, shut up about feeling bad.Do you think he cares? He’d like you to have brain cancer, that would be the sort ofsuffering he’d like for you.Why are you offering up your stricken con-science—to make him feel you’ve been punished sufficiently?Are you so afraid ofhim?And with that question, Daniel at last connects to the core ofwhat had been plaguing him from the moment he and Hampton set offtogether in search ofMarie.It is not really about conscience, after all.

He’s been wrestling with conscience for months now, they are old spar-ring partners, sometimes he pins it to the mat, sometimes it slams him, it doesn’t really amount to much, it’s a show, like wrestling onTV.And besides:the worst sort ofremorse is preferable to what preceded it, which was the infinitely greater agony oflonging for Iris.Remorse is the payment due for the fulfillment ofhis great desire.And it is, finally, a payment he was willing to make.No, it is not his conscience that churns sickly at the center ofhim, making him cringe inwardly when Hampton steps too close to him.It is fear, physical fear.

They continue to walk, hoping to find a clearing, a way out.Once, most ofthis land was pasture, grazed by cattle, but it hadn’t seen a plow in over a hundred years and left to its own had become a wild place.They climb yet another hill.This one might have been steeper—because they both have to hold on to trees to pull themselves up—or else they are getting tired.

And once they have scaled it, all they can see is more trees—except on one side, where there is a sharp drop-off, leading to what looks like a large pond filled with black water.

“We came from that direction,”Hampton says uncertainly.He points down the hill upon which they stand, and offto the left.The night is gathering quickly, the darkness rushes in like water through the hull ofa ship, covering everything.

It seems to Daniel that they have walkeddownthe hill, as well as walking up it.In fact, they may have traipsed up and down it three or four times.But he chooses to not argue the matter.

“All right,”he says.“I have no idea.”He touches the Roman candle in his back pocket.Maybe set it offright now, before it got any darker.But how much darker could it get? Better to save the flare for later, ifneeded.

“Do you know how to get out ofhere?”Hampton asks.

”No.”

“Then let’s go.”

“Fine, lead the way.”

They halfwalk and halfslide down the hill, with their arms in front oftheir faces to protect themselves from the saplings.

The problem is there is no space to walk in;the woods have imploded.They seem to be walking in circles, corkscrewing themselves into oblivion, continually tripping over vines, stumbling over fallen trees, getting scraped by branches, stomping into sudden pools ofstill water, sometimes walking right into a standing tree.It is as ifthey are be-ing toyed with.Isolated in their despair, they walk for halfan hour with-out speaking.

Then, suddenly, a little stretch where last month’s storm seemed to have done little damage.They walk for three minutes without having to change course.And though they don’t know which direction they are going in, the mere fact ofkeeping a constant course gives them a bit of encouragement.They are not, after all, in the middle ofsome vast un-charted wilderness.They are only a hundred miles north ofthe city.How far can they go without ending up on some stretch ofasphalt or in someone’s backyard? But then they reach a devastated grove oflocusts, the saplings with bark spiked with thorns, like giant, petrified roses.

There are so many ofthem down on the ground, or leaning against each other in a swoon, that it would have been impossible to get through them or past them even in daylight.

“I think we’ve already been here,”Hampton says.

”Really?What makes you think so?”

In the blindness ofthe night, Daniel can sense from the quality ofthe silence that Hampton is glaring at him.

“What makes me think so?”asks Hampton.His voice seems completely unconnected to his feelings;even in anger, it is melodious.

“I think we’re making progress,”Daniel says.

”Well, we’re not, we’re going in circles.”

“Hampton.I’ve been following you.All right?”

“We’re going in circles.”

“Well, you’ve been taking us there.”

“Daniel?”

“What?”

“Can I make a suggestion?”

“Sure.What?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

There is a rock nearby, embedded deeply into the forest floor and covered with moss and lichen.Hampton tries to scale it, hoping to see a break in the woods, but the soles ofhis shoes are slick, and as soon as he stands on the rock he slips and falls hard onto his hands and knees, and just stays there, with his head down, for several moments.

Daniel goes to his side, touches him softly on the shoulder.“Here,”he says.He puts out his hand.Hampton’s fingers are hard and cold;he grasps Daniel’s hand like a statue come to life.Daniel steps back and pulls Hampton to his feet.It is strange to be touching this man who once had, and is now losing, everything.

“You know,”Hampton says,“even in the dark I can still sort ofsee you.Your white skin picks up every little bit oflight there is.”

“Yeah?”

“I guess you can’t see me at all, can you?”

Daniel doesn’t want to say no;he just shakes his head.He wonders if Iris’s scent is on him—surely Hampton would recognize it.He moves a little farther away.This great secret life suddenly feels like groceries coming out ofa wet paper sack.

“What’s it like being lost out here with a big oldAfrican-American man who you basically do not know.”

“What are you talking about, Hampton?”

“Just that.I’m curious.I see white people all the time, but I rarely have the opportunity to ask them certain things.Do you know many black people, Daniel?”

“A few.I used to know more.Out here, it’s more difficult, obviously.”

“But here’s where you are, it’s what you chose, youmovedhere.”

“Not to get away from black people.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Ifyou want to know the truth, I think my prejudice goes the other way.Black people have something I’ve always wanted.”

“Rhythm?”

“That’s ridiculous.”He backs still farther away, stumbles, rights himself.

”All right.Sorry.What is it we black people have that you’ve alwayswanted?”

“Family.Community.”

Hampton laughs—a sudden, rude bark ofamusement.

”I know how it sounds,”says Daniel.He searches his mind for something to substitute, some innocuous generalization, something admiring ofblack people that won’t seem too utterly stupid and condescending.

Hampton is silent.He takes a deep breath, a man controlling his temper.

”Is that what you see in Iris?”he finally asks.“Someone in touch with her feelings who can put you in touch with yours?”

So here it is,thinks Daniel.A kind ofexhaustion ofstrategy begins to overcome him, a growing incapacity to dodge and maneuver.The lies he has told weigh him down, it is as ifthey were stones with which he has filled his pockets.His psychological step is increasingly heavy and un-sure.One day, Daniel thinks, Hampton will replay this conversation in his mind and every lie he has told will be vivid and repulsive to him.But, for now, Daniel must stay the course.

“I see everything in Iris,”Daniel says quietly.

”Don’t be deceived by her skin and her hair.She’s as white as the bankers I see down in the city.”

“Let’s not do this here, okay, Hampton?You want to talk about this,

I’ll talk about it.But let’s get out ofthese woods, go someplace where we can sit down.”

“So you’re making the rules?”

“I’m asking.”

Another silence.Daniel hears Hampton exhale.

”Fine.Wait here for a second, all right? I have to urinate.”Even this announcement is made in Hampton’s public speaker’s voice.

There’s a break in the black sky and the platinum moonlight pours down on them.The whites ofHampton’s eyes glitter.His shirt is dirty, his trousers are covered in burrs and black with mud at the knees.

“I’ll wait here,”Daniel says.

Hampton’s footsteps crunch over the dried leaves, fainter and fainter.

Where is he going? Uphill? It’s hard for Daniel to tell which way Hamp-ton is walking, and then, ten seconds later, fifteen at the most, he can’t hear him at all.

Daniel walks a couple ofcareful, shuffling steps until he feels the hard presence ofyet another fallen tree.He crouches down, runs his hands along the bark.No branches, no large knots.He sits carefully on the tree trunk and waits.He cannot continue with these lies—he remembers thinking this, the nearness ofthis confession is what will come to haunt him.He will remember thinking that the ordering ofevents, the careful timing ofwhen the truth can be released, all ofit is being taken out ofhis hand.

Hampton’s piss seems to be taking an extraordinarily long time.The cold wind rustles the treetops.A presence ofspirits?Who knew? From someplace quite near comes the sound ofa pack ofcoyotes, a frenzy of yips and yowls.

Daniel loses patience, stands.“Hampton?You all right?”There is no answer.Even the coyotes are silent, for a moment.Daniel wonders if Hampton has simply decided to ditch him, to abandon him in these ru-ined woods.A rush ofmalevolence streaks through him, like a comet with its rock- and ice-strewn brilliance, its searing, filthy light.For a mo-ment, he despises Hampton as much as he had during the very worst nights oflonging for Iris, when sleep was impossible and there was no end to the hatred he had for the man who had everything Daniel wanted.

“Hampton?”Daniel says, much louder this time.He hears the slight hysteria in his voice, feels it in his throat.“Hampton? Hampton!Are youthere?”

He makes some vague, stumbling effort to find him.Seeing almost nothing, Daniel makes his way up the steep hill.He must grab on to the trees along the way to power himself up.Hadn’t they been on this steep hill before? Isn’t this the one with the sharp drop-offinto a pool ofblack water fifty feet below? Or is this another one just like it?

Daniel scrambles to the top ofthe hill.His face stings and when he touches it he realizes that he must have gotten hit by a branch.His fin-gertips are wet.He is bleeding.

“Hampton?”Silence.He feels a wind at his back and turns quickly.He is right on the edge ofthat fifty-foot drop-off.

A jolt offear goes through him.He has a vision ofHampton springing up and hitting him on the shoulders with his open hands, and send-ing him falling offthe hill and into the water.

And as soon as that thought occurs, he realizes that is exactly where Hampton is, in that black water below.He has fallen.Those shoes, those pricey, prissy fucking shoes.He is down there, probably facedown in thewater.

Daniel stands there, not knowing what to do.Should he skid down and see ifhe can find Hampton? It seems insane.He might have gone in another direction, he might right now be back at the spot at which they’d parted, wondering where Daniel has gone.

The cold wind parts the clouds and moonlight shines down again.

Daniel looks down, sees that he is only a foot from the edge ofthe hill.

Again he steps back.His heart is leaping up and down inside ofhim, like a creature trapped in a well.He is suddenly exhausted.He has an over-powering desire to sit down, close his eyes, but forces himself to care-fully inch closer to the drop-off.The ground is an impasto ofpebble, pine needle, and slippery cold mud.

He gets down on his hands and knees.The clouds are already making their way back to the moon, he has only a few moments oflight.He peers down at the pond—and there it is:the unthinkable.Hampton.

Facedown in the water.Arms stretched out before him, jacket balloon-ing, making him look like a hunchback.

Daniel claps his hand over his own eyes, turns away, sits there, draws up his knees, shudders.

Do something.

It seems as ifhe were paralyzed.

Do something.Now! Ifonly he had raced down, ifonly Daniel had taken that steep, plunging run toward the water with total abandon.He was screaming,Oh my God, oh my God,but he was not selfless.He kept his face covered.He slowed down when he lost traction and began to skid.And when his foot caught on an exposed root and he fell to the ground, he stayed there for an extra heartbeat or two, trying to gather his strength.He would re-member the clumsy caution ofhis descent.

When he is nearly down the slope, he loses his footing again.He does not fall but he has to run in an awkward, stiff-legged way to keep his balance.

His momentum takes him into the water, right up to his knees.The cold is like being hit in the shins with a tire iron.Hampton’s form has drifted to-ward the center ofthe pond.Daniel calls his name.This time his shout is not stillborn, it blooms in echoes.But there is no reply, no movement.

Daniel takes another step and the bottom ofthe pond falls away.In-

stinctively, he rears back, stops himself from going forward, from going under.Panic is upon him, merciless and annihilating.The water rushes into his clothes, it is like the paralyzing sting ofan insect, something to render him helpless so he can be consumed.He has never been a strong swimmer, in fact, he can barely swim.There is no chance ofhis rescuing Hampton, ifthere was any Hampton left to rescue.Daniel backs up a step, and then another, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the Ro-man candle.

He crouches at the edge ofthe pond, jams the base ofthe Roman candle into the ground.The fuse is plastered to the side ofthe cardboard cylinder and Daniel has to tease it up with his fingernails, makes it stand straight out so that he can light it.He digs in his front pocket for matches.Quarters fall out, as well as his keys.He finds the matches.They are damp, and the first one doesn’t light.But the second one does.His hands are shaking but he finally gets the flame to the fuse.It sparks up with a sudden, nervous hiss.Someone will see it, someone will come.In the meanwhile, he will try to force himself back into the water, ifit is at all possible.The wind is parting the clouds again, the moonlight is start-ing to come through, a long platinum spoke ofit.The fuse burns slowly for the first couple inches, but then accelerates.

He realizes that the candle is pointing right at him, that it is going to fire into his face, and he jerks his head away and quickly pushes the can-dle forward.

He scrambles up.Then, in the darkness, against all probability:he hears a voice.“Hey, what are you doing?”He looks up at the sound and sees Hampton standing at the top ofthe hill.

There is an instant when Daniel is almost wild with relief.It is as if he loves Hampton as much as he loves Iris.

The Roman candle ignites, and the first fireball from it rises and flies, making a sound like air being sucked out ofa pipe.It launches at a forty-five-degree angle and never reaches the sky.It strikes Hampton and buries itselfdeep into the softest part ofhis throat.Hampton just stands in place.There is enough moonlight now to see his expression.He is stunned, hurt.His mouth opens.His hand clasps the object in his throat, but he doesn’t appear to be trying to pull it out.It’s almost as ifhe’s holding it in place.His legs buckle and then they are useless.He sits down, heavily, his head falls forward and then his body tilts to the side.

He topples over and starts to roll.

Daniel runs up the hill, shouting.But even now his progress is impeded;he looks over his shoulder, back down at the pond.He is still in the grip ofthe notion that Hampton, another Hampton, the real Hamp-ton, is in the water, he can’t quite shake it.Though now the clouds are moving quickly and the moonlight is streaming down, and Daniel can see what he could not see before—in the water is a partially submerged log, the top halfofa tree that has been snapped in two by the storm, its gan-glia ofdead branches surrounded by leaves.