In The Heart Of The Canyon Part 13

"By golly," said Mark, "he can't keep himself out of trouble."

"He did what any kid would do," said JT, who hated to see people punished (unless by his own doing) on one of his trips. Still, he didn't like to go against parents' directives, either.

"Mark wouldn't want to miss an opportunity to discipline his kid, though," Jill remarked. She tilted her head and began violently detangling her hair with her fingers.

JT's skin p.r.i.c.kled; worse than anything was siding with a wife.

Peter came up, followed by Dixie.

"Is this trip jinxed?" she demanded. "Did we p.i.s.s off Odwalla?"

"Who's Odwalla?" asked Evelyn.

"The river G.o.ddess," Dixie informed her, as matter-of-factly as a nun. Who made the earth? G.o.d made the earth Who made the earth? G.o.d made the earth. "Like, what did we do wrong to deserve this?"

Abo looked down, scratched the back of his neck. "It's just a dog, Dixie."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You act like he's Darth Vader."

"Well, sorry sorry if I'm not thrilled to have the dog along for the rest of the trip," said Dixie. "I told you guys. I told you. n.o.body ever listens to me." She stalked back to her boat, waded in a few feet, and squatted. if I'm not thrilled to have the dog along for the rest of the trip," said Dixie. "I told you guys. I told you. n.o.body ever listens to me." She stalked back to her boat, waded in a few feet, and squatted.

"Why is Dixie upset?" Jill asked JT.

JT ran his hands through his hair and didn't answer. Because frankly it didn't make a lot of sense to him, what she had against this dog.

Just then, Ruth, dressed head to toe in the beige microfiber that had become her uniform for this trip, came limping across the sand. She knelt on her good leg, and the dog sensed her and came trotting over and sat, panting, so that Ruth could pat him.

"Lloyd," Ruth called, over her shoulder. "Look who survived."

Lloyd was bent over his day bag. "I'd be fine if I could find my keys," he replied.

"Come on, guys," said JT to the group. "Lets fix lunch."

But Mitch.e.l.l shook out his map. "I think," he began, "if you can make it up over this ledge, you can connect with Bright Angel."

JT a.s.sumed Mitch.e.l.l was confused about something, and he didn't want to take the time to understand his confusion. He ignored Mitch.e.l.l and headed for the boats to haul out the lunch supplies.

"Do you want me to go?" Mitch.e.l.l offered, traipsing behind.

"Huh?"

"The dog-someone's going to take him back up to Phantom, right?"

JT stared at the man. A grizzly half-inch stubble had grown in, and his clay-colored s.h.i.+rt hung untucked over his dark swim trunks. JT repositioned his visor. "Say what?"

"Well, look," said Mitch.e.l.l, shaking the map out.

JT squinted at Mitch.e.l.l-or rather, at Mitch.e.l.l's large dark sungla.s.ses. "You can't get to Phantom from here."

"Sure you can," said Mitch.e.l.l. "See," and he pointed to some dense contour lines on the map.

But JT didn't take his eyes off Mitch.e.l.l's sungla.s.ses. "Mitch.e.l.l, are you second-guessing me?"

"I'm just consulting a map is all."

"Well, consult all you want," said JT. "There's no way to get to Phantom from here."

"Then what do you propose to do with the dog?"

"That's easy," said JT. "The dog's on for the duration."

Mitch.e.l.l expelled a little puff of air.

"That's right," said JT, as though needing to convince himself as well. "I'm certainly not going to make one of us hike him out at Havasu."

"What about Hermit?"

JT didn't answer. Theoretically, it would be possible for someone to hike him out at Hermit Creek, but the likelihood of finding a willing hiker now seemed all too remote. Besides, chasing the dog on this last jaunt from Phantom through Pipe Creek had crystallized something in him, and he didn't like to think of it in terms of owners.h.i.+p, but that's what it was when you came right down to it: the now-clear a.s.sumption that the dog was his and would be his, not just now but long after this trip was over. He saw himself putting up a new fence in his backyard, Colin's old sandbox a good place to dig.

"A response would be in order," said Mitch.e.l.l.

Realizing that they were halfway through their journey and that it was time to level with Mitch.e.l.l, JT drew him aside. For once, he took off his own gla.s.ses, because even though the bright noonday sun burned his retinas, he wanted Mitch.e.l.l to look straight into his eyes.

"What do you have against me, anyway?" Mitch.e.l.l began. "You've had it in for me from the start. Are you going to spell it out or just keep p.i.s.sing me off?"

"Shut up, Mitch.e.l.l," said JT.

To his surprise, Mitch.e.l.l fell silent.

"Okay now," JT said, "you've got two options, Mitch.e.l.l. One, you can stay with us, or two, you can find another trip for the next seven days. That's pretty simple, don't you think, Mitch.e.l.l? Now I suspect the last thing you want to do at this point is take any advice from me, but I'm your Trip Leader, and that's my job, and so I'm going to advise you to choose option number one and stick with us. And you know why? Because if you don't, you're going to look back on this as the biggest missed opportunity of your life. Because it's not about the dog, Mitch.e.l.l. It's about learning to let go."

Mitch.e.l.l folded his arms over his broad chest. His forearms were furred with silvery hairs, which glinted in parallel lines, as though combed.

"And if you stay with us, I promise you two things," JT went on. "Number one, forget about the allergies. Lena's not going to go into anaphylactic shock, unless she cuddles up with the dog, which I don't think she's inclined to do."

Mitch.e.l.l spat into the sand.

"Stay with me, Mitch.e.l.l," JT warned, "because here comes promise number two: I guarantee you that book you're writing is going to be a h.e.l.l of a lot better with with a dog than a dog than without without. Are you with me here? Think about the opportunities, Mitch.e.l.l. What would John Wesley Powell have done? You think he would have ditched the dog?"

The riddle briefly tempered Mitch.e.l.l's fury.

"Hardly a question you really have to ask," JT said. "Now grow up, Mitch.e.l.l, and let yourself have some fun. Don't take this trip so seriously. Kid around. Be nice. People want to like you, Mitch.e.l.l. They really do."

It was one of the toughest and longest lectures JT had ever given one of his pa.s.sengers, more words than he'd said at one time in he couldn't remember how long, and it would not have surprised him if, when the next group of boats came down, Mitch.e.l.l and Lena invited themselves on board and huffed good-bye, good riddance, once and for all, to JT and crew. But JT didn't wait around to see what Mitch.e.l.l was going to do. They were two miles below Phantom Ranch on Day Six of their trip. He had a dog, a wounded geriatric, an Alzheimer's patient, a morbidly obese teenager, Cain and Abel-and now a pathological copilot he might have just incensed beyond hope. It was at least 115 degrees. He had lunch to prepare and bandages to change; he was responsible for making sure twelve people kept themselves well-enough hydrated so as not to collapse in this heat. He'd done what he could to send the dog on his way, but the dog was here to stay.

As he'd just told Mitch.e.l.l, it would make for a much better story someday.

23.

Day Six Mile 89 While JT was off with Mitch.e.l.l and everyone else was fussing over the dog, Evelyn uncapped her Nalgene and allowed herself four small sips of water.

As of today, Evelyn had started rationing. Yes, she'd heard JT's mandate about everyone drinking enough, but she was confident that she knew her own personal homeostasis well enough to gauge the minimum amount of water necessary to keep herself hydrated without having to suffer a full bladder. JT was recommending a liter every four hours; Evelyn decided she could halve that amount without running any health risks.

It was the simplest of equations: Where J J = = the amount of water JT was recommending; the amount of water JT was recommending;B = = the amount of water that would ordinarily end up in her bladder; and the amount of water that would ordinarily end up in her bladder; andE= the amount of water that she, Evelyn, would have to drink to stay sufficiently hydrated the amount of water that she, Evelyn, would have to drink to stay sufficiently hydrated.

And so today she'd made it from breakfast to lunch on just half a liter. Not being in such intense pain, she found it easier to go. And to check for dehydration, she pressed her thumb to the inside of her forearm, making sure that her flesh bounced back readily. It did. She congratulated herself on her methodology.

Apart from her Problem, though, Evelyn was having a fine time on the trip. She'd seen a peregrine falcon and a California condor, a flock of wild turkeys and too many hawks to keep track of. She'd seen bighorn sheep grazing by the side of the river and funny little mice with big ears scurrying across the sand at dawn. She'd memorized all the layers of rock.

Best of all, she was making friends. Last night, for instance, Jill had invited her to eat with the family, and she'd spent the whole time telling them about her research, which they listened to more closely than her students ever did. The guides in particular were very nice, especially the way they answered her questions so patiently. Does it ever snow down here? How did that rock get out in the middle of the river? Why did the Anasazi build the granaries so high? What are they going to do about all that nuisance tamarisk? How do you know when the water levels are going to rise? Is the dam really going to burst someday? Does it ever snow down here? How did that rock get out in the middle of the river? Why did the Anasazi build the granaries so high? What are they going to do about all that nuisance tamarisk? How do you know when the water levels are going to rise? Is the dam really going to burst someday?

She made sure to take copious notes, writing in her journal at the end of each afternoon while the others drank. (That was the one thing about this trip that she disapproved of, the amount of alcohol consumed, and not just by the pa.s.sengers but by the guides themselves, because shouldn't they be watching out for the rest of them? Weren't they the designated drivers?) Julian would be interested in hearing about the size of the trout; he liked to fish. And her friends over in the botany department would want details about the flora and fauna. She kept a numerical log of each day's photos too, so she would know just where a particular photo was taken-she didn't want to be one of those people who came back from vacation with a lot of pretty pictures and nothing informative to say about them!

Lots of people were keeping journals, she noticed. Mitch.e.l.l had a dirt-colored spiral notebook. Amy wrote in something covered with floral fabric. As for Evelyn, she preferred ordinary composition books, marbled black and white, with a blank spot on the cover to note the date and location. She'd always kept travel journals, one for each trip, ever since she was a child. Back in Cambridge, she kept them lined up on a lower bookshelf, in chronological order, her own set of personal abstracts.

It seemed to Evelyn that Matthew was being unfairly shunned for his behavior up at Phantom. All he'd done was make a valiant effort to entertain the dog. What was so wrong with that, even if it ended up the way it did?

After lunch she saw the boy sitting forlornly with the dog, while Sam and his father were occupied with something in the boat. Evelyn saw this as an opportunity, not just to comfort Matthew but to try and make friends with the dog. And so she approached them with a hesitant smile. Matthew had taken off his hat, and his scalp looked pale and vulnerable through his buzz cut.

"Mind if I pat the dog a little?" she asked.

Matthew s.h.i.+fted to make room for her. The dog immediately rolled over and splayed his legs. Evelyn hesitated, then tapped his chest.

"Actually, he likes it like this," Matthew told her, and he bent over the dog and rubbed his stomach vigorously. One of the dog's hind legs batted the air.

"Try that," he told her.

Tentatively, Evelyn patted the dogs abdomen. There didn't seem to be much belly room, with all his male apparatus, and she was afraid she might, well, stimulate him.

"Harder," said Matthew.

Evelyn rubbed her fingers in small circles, careful to stay in one area. The dog's leg began to kick in response.

"See? He likes you. Now try this," and Matthew stood up and dug in his pocket and pulled out some Gummi Bears, frosted with sand and lint. He handed one to Evelyn, who hesitated, then offered it to the dog.

"Good job," said Matthew, scrumbling the dog's ears.

"Do you like animals generally?" Evelyn asked.

"I like mammals," said Mathew. "And I love reptiles. I want to go to the Galapagos Islands."

"I've been there!" Evelyn exclaimed.

"I was Charles Darwin for Major Thinkers Day," Matthew went on. "We rented a white beard for me to wear. I made my finches out of feathers from Hobby Village. All their beaks were different," he said proudly.

"I'm very impressed!"

"How come you're on this trip alone?" Matthew asked suddenly.

"Well," said Evelyn, taking the time to think of a good answer, "I like to do things alone, I guess."

"I don't. I hate being alone. My mom likes it, though. Sometimes she wants to be alone so bad, she goes and locks herself in the bathroom."

Although Matthew's hair was no more than half an inch long, Evelyn noticed it was already growing back into its genetic whorl.

"And it's not just me and Sam that make her go in there," he went on. "She goes in there on the weekend, when my dad's home. My dad's not home a lot, though."

"What does your dad do?"

"Something in j.a.pan. One time he brought me and Sam some comic books and he brought my mom a bathrobey thing and she wasn't very nice about it. I hope they're not going to get divorced."

Evelyn's heart lost its balance, and she felt the color rise in her neck. "I'm sure they're not," she said hastily. "Look, they're having such a good time together."

Matthew looked over to where Jill was laughing with JT; Mark and Sam were still off in the boat.

"I guess," he said dully. "If we could just get a dog," he added, scratching the dog's ears.

A spasm of loneliness gripped Evelyn right then. She suddenly wished, with all her heart, that she had urged Julian to come after all. There was n.o.body with whom she was feeling a real kins.h.i.+p; she was a fifth wheel, unintegrated, both superior and inferior to everyone.

How did you express that, mathematically?

24.

Day Six, Evening Mile 93 That evening, to mark the end of a very long day, JT mixed up a bucket of margaritas. He had just started ladling them out when some hikers came traipsing through the bushes, a weary group of women whose first task upon reaching the river was to shed their clothes and dash into the water. No one was more intrigued than the two boys, who stopped arguing over the can smasher and knelt in rapt attention at the sight of four naked women whooping it up in the river. They were even more impressed when one of them recognized Abo and, after wrapping herself in a sarong, came over to look at some photos he had dug out from his ammo box. The can smasher lay idle.

Eventually, all the women wandered over, and in exchange for margaritas, JT was able to score an extra Ace bandage from them.

"Any of you happen to like dogs?" Dixie asked. "He's really sweet. Doesn't need much water, either."

"Dixie," said JT.

"Might as well ask," Dixie said with a shrug.