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Hadi nodded again. “Don’t worry about me. If I don’t make it back, just get her out.”
“I plan to.”
Hadi took some food and water with him and soon was out of sight. Niema didn’t ask where he was going; she simply sat down and stared emptily at nothing. No, not emptily, Tucker thought. That would be easier to bear than the bottomless well of suffering reflected in her eyes.
The day wore on. He spent the time constructing a meager shelter for them, something to block the sun during the day and the wind at night. As they worked their way out of the mountains, the temperature had risen, but the nights were still damn cold. They ate, or at least he did; Niema refused more than a couple of bites. She drank a good bit of water, though, more than usual.
By nightfall, her cheeks were a little flushed. Tucker felt her face and wasn’t surprised to find it hot. “You’re feverish,” he told her. “From the nail.” The fever wasn’t especially high, so he wasn’t worried on that account, but her body didn’t need this fresh assault.
He ate by flashlight. The fever robbed her of what little appetite she had, and she didn’t eat anything that night; again, she drank a lot of water. “Try to get some sleep,” he said, and obediently she lay down on the blanket he had spread out for her, but he watched her breathing for a while and knew she didn’t sleep. She was lying there staring into the shadows, aching for the husband who wasn’t there and never would be again.
Tucker stared at her back. She and Dallas had been circumspect in their behavior, refraining from public displays of affection, but at night they had slept next to each other, with Dallas spooned protectively around her and his big arm draped around her waist. She had slept like a baby then, utterly secure.
Perhaps she couldn’t sleep now because she was alone and could feel the chill on her back. It was a simple thing, the kind of routine married couples seemed to develop so easily: the comfort of human warmth in the night, the sound of a loved one’s breathing. Perhaps it was the trust, the intimacy, that meant so much. Intimacy didn’t come easily to Tucker, trust even less so, but he knew it had existed between Niema and Dallas. Dallas’s death had left her bereft, and she no longer found comfort in the night.
Tucker sighed inwardly The sigh was for himself, because he knew what he had to do, and knew the cost.
He got a bottle of water and silently went to her, lying down behind her on the blanket and placing the water nearby. “Shhh,” he murmured when she stiffened. “Just go to sleep.” He curved his body around her, giving her his heat, his strength. Pulling a second blanket over them to keep out the cold, he anchored her to him with his arm around her waist.
He could feel the fever inside her; the heat emanating from her body wrapping around them both like a third blanket. Still, she shivered a little, and he pulled her closer. She lay on her uninjured left shoulder and held her right arm very still so as not to jar it.
“The fever’s fighting the infection,” he said, keeping his voice low and soothing. “There’s aspirin in the first-aid kit, if you get too uncomfortable, but unless the fever gets a lot higher I suggest letting it do its job.”
“Yes.” Her voice was thin with fatigue, listless.
He stroked her hair, his touch gentle and tried to think of some way to occupy her mind. Maybe if she could just stop thinking she could sleep. “I saw a solar eclipse once. I was in South America.” He didn’t get any more specific than that. “The weather was so hot the air felt sticky. Cold showers didn’t do any good; I was sweaty again as soon as I got toweled off. Everyone wore as little clothing as possible.”
He didn’t know if she was listening; he didn’t much care. He kept that soothing, gently monotonous tone, his voice just barely above a whisper. If he could bore her to sleep, so much the better.
“It had been on the radio that there would be a solar eclipse that day, but the heat was so miserable no one much cared. It was just a little village, not the type to attract any eclipse chasers. I had forgotten about it myself. It was a sunny day, so bright the light hurt my eyes, and I was wearing sunglasses. The eclipse slipped up on me. The sun was still shining, the sky was blue, but all of a sudden it was as if a cloud had passed over the sun. The birds all stopped singing, and the village pets hid.
“One of the villagers looked up and said, ’Look at the sun,’ and I remembered about the eclipse. I told them not to stare, that it would blind them if they looked too long. The light was eerie, if you can imagine dark sunshine. The sky turned a really deep shade of blue, and the temperature dropped at least twenty degrees. It kept getting darker and darker, but the sky was still blue. Finally the sun was completely covered, and the solar halo around the moon was . . . spectacular. On the ground we were in a strange, deep twilight, and everything was quiet, but overhead the sky glowed. The twilight lasted for a couple of minutes, and during that time the entire village stood still. Men, women, and children; none of them moved, or spoke.
“Then the light began to come back, and the birds started singing again. The chickens came off roost, and the dogs barked. The moon moved on, and it was as hot as it had been before, but no one bitched about the weather anymore.” Two days later everyone in that little village was dead—massacred—but he kept that to himself.
He waited. Her breathing was too shallow for sleep, but at least she wasn’t as stiff as she had been before. If she relaxed, her body might take over and let itself sleep.
Next he told her about a dog he’d had when he was a kid. There was no dog, but she didn’t know that. The dog he made up was a Heinz 57, with a long, skinny body like a dachshund and a curly coat like a poodle. “Ugly little bastard,” he said comfortably.
“What was his name?”
Her voice startled him. It was low, almost hesitant. Something painful grabbed his chest and squeezed. “She,” he said. “I named her Fifi, because I thought that was what poodles were named.”
He told her tale after tale of Fifi’s exploits. She’d been an amazing dog. She could climb trees, open most doors by herself, and her favorite meal had been—God, what was some kid’s cereal?—Fruit Loops. Fifi slept with the cat, hid shoes under the couch, and once really did eat his homework.
Tucker embroidered on the fictional Fifi for half an hour, keeping his voice to a melodic rhythm, pausing every so often to check Niema’s breathing. It got slower, deeper, until finally she slept.
He let himself sleep, but lightly. A part of him remained alert, listening for Hadi’s return, or for any suspicious sound. He woke completely several times, to check on Niema and make certain her fever wasn’t getting higher. She was still too warm, but he was satisfied there was nothing critical about the fever, just her body healing itself. Still, to be on the safe side, he roused her enough each time that she could drink a little water. As he had suspected, once she let herself go to sleep nature got the
upper hand, and though he woke her easily enough she went right back to sleep the moment she closed her eyes.
The hours passed and Hadi didn’t return. Tucker was patient. People slept soundest in the hours before dawn, and Hadi would probably wait until then. Still, every time he woke from his doze, Tucker checked his watch and considered his options. The longer he let Niema sleep, the stronger she would be and the faster she would be able to travel. He couldn’t, however, afford to wait too long.
At five o’clock he turned on the flashlight and drank some of the water himself, then gently roused Niema. She drank the water he held to her mouth, then snuggled against him and sighed drowsily. “Time to get up,” he murmured.
She kept her eyes closed. “Not yet.” She turned to face him, and slipped her arm around his neck. “Mmm.” She nestled closer, pressing her face into his chest.
She thought he was Dallas. She was still drowsy, her mind dulled by the hard sleep, and perhaps she had been dreaming about him. She was accustomed to waking in her husband’s arms, to cuddling even if they didn’t make love, and given the short time they had been married Tucker bet there hadn’t been many mornings when Dallas hadn’t made love to her.
