Wrapped in Rain(59)

I nodded, gently lifted his arm, slid out from underneath the sheets, and covered him up with the blanket.

I was stepping into the shower when the door cracked just wide enough to slide a cup of coffee through. She set it on the counter and shut the door quietly.

The shower felt good, as did the hot water. I dressed, sipped my coffee, and walked out of the bathroom a few minutes later.

Jase was still asleep, so I slipped on my jacket and walked to the door. "You guys hang out here, and I'll tell Gibby where you are."



"Don't worry," she said, waving me off. "I saw some stores next door. I thought maybe we'd go shopping."

"Figures," I said. "If you want, Gibby can pick you up and take you two fishing or something."

"We'll work it out." She turned and looked at Jase. "If it's okay with you, I think we'll be here when you get back."

I nodded, waved, and closed the door behind me.

The canoe hadn't moved since last night. Dew covered the canvas-strap seats along with the paddles, so I squeegeed them with my hand and cranked the engine. I slipped down the creek back to the fork and turned right again, retracing my steps. By nine, I had cut the engine, paddled, and cut a seam through the black mirror. The sun was warm, so I shed my jacket while the ripe, pungent, and inviting smells of the swamp swirled around me. I coasted beneath the arm of the old rope swing and farther into the creek where it narrowed again.

The water flowed from two directions. The majority of water flowed in from the river, while a smaller current, or stream of water, came down out of the swamp. I paddled into the smaller stream and noticed that the water started getting clearer. Another hundred yards and I realized I had found a spring. The creek ended as abruptly as it had begun, with the spring water bubbling out beneath and around the roots of a cypress. The swamp around me spread out for a hundred yards in every direction.

Having reached a dead end, I turned the canoe, banging both ends on either side of the creek, and headed back to the wider water. When I got there, I smiled because the clear water reminded me of the quarry. It reminded me of the best day.

I paddled into the black water, and that's when it hit me. The best day. If the spring water had reminded me, maybe Mutt had had the same thought.



I turned the canoe and headed back up the creek of clear water, and that's when I saw the bubbles. Smallalmost unnoticeable unless you were looking for themsoap bubbles hanging on the roots of the side of the creek. I pulled the canoe around the base of the cypress tree and lifted a few branches so I could slide the canoe beneath them. I lay down and let the limbs pass over me like a ceiling. When I sat up, the canoe came to rest in what looked like a cul-de-sac. The water came out of the earth beneath me. I could see about forty feet down where a dark hole about three feet across disappeared into the sand and rock below. Around me, the bank was muddy and covered in weeds, purple iris, and white water lilies. An enormous clump of red amaryllis spilled out of the muck and dipped its huge green leaves in the water. A hummingbird flew into and out of one of the snorkel-shaped leaves forming at the end of a fresh stem. The place teemed with life.

A beached canoe rested to my left. On the seat sat a chess set, unfinished in midgame with half the pieces still standing on the board and half-standing in rows across the bottom of the canoe. I followed the footprints to the vinecovered bank, where they disappeared. I studied the bank, looking for any sign of Mutt but saw none. I beached the canoe and stepped out into the spring water that was knee-high and cold. I pulled on the canoe, set my paddle quietly inside, and crept toward the bank. A small shelter had been burrowed in one side, large enough for a man to wedge into with his knees tucked up into his chest. I pulled away the vines, and there looking back at me were two eyes peering out of the layers of caked mud that surrounded every inch of his body. From this dark mass, the whites of his two eyes stared out at me. And in the middle of the dark mass were two very clean hands.

His hair was knotted and stringy, and he was shaking, almost shivering. I slid up through the mud, next to the bank, and leaned against the vines, not saying a word, wondering if this was the beginning or the end. Mutt's eyes never left mine. After three or four minutes, he opened his right hand, and in the palm was a small bar of soap, well used and soon to be done with. His left hand was clenched tightly close to his chest, unmoving. He extended his right arm and held the soap out to me. I reached out and slowly took the soap, and he retracted his arm almost mechanically.



His face looked swollen with mosquito bites, as did his clean hands. Mutt didn't say a word. It was the worst I had ever seen him. It was the worst I had ever seen anyone. He was a breathing shell.

"Hey, buddy," I whispered. His eyes never flinched. I washed my hands. "What're you thinking about?"

A few minutes passed, and he looked out over the swamp. In a hoarse, almost silent whisper, he said, "Boxing up the sunshine ... riding a cloud ... raking the rain."

He extended his hand and waved it across the landscape.

"Is there room on that cloud for two?"

He thought for a moment, looked down into his left hand at whatever he was hiding, opened it slightly, closed it quickly, and nodded. "Slide over," I whispered.

We sat for an hour in the dark without saying another word. Without warning, Mutt looked at me and said, "You remember when Miss Ella used to read to us out of her Bible?"