Ariel's Crossing - Bradford Morrow [100]
He had no better explanation for his friend’s psychological catastrophe than this old-hat Aristotelian model. So Jessica—who herself had nothing to offer by way of understanding Kip—hid the letter, saving it for many years until she finally lost track of it. Proving once more the law of loss.
Kip was flying through Ariel’s thoughts, too, now that she’d accepted Sarah Montoya’s offer to drive her to Nambé. Her only hesitation was whether it might be better if Sarah let Kip know his daughter was in Los Alamos, anxious to see him. At least that way he wouldn’t be taken completely by surprise, would have time to do whatever it was people did in such circumstances—even if it was as negligible as putting on fresh clothes, combing his hair, pondering what first words might be appropriate.
One of Ariel’s grandfather’s conundrums came to mind:
The part of a raven not in the sky,
That swims in the river
And yet remains dry.
Who am I?
That was one that stumped her when she was young. Now it seemed both obvious and apropos, as Ariel was to encounter both Raven and shadow, no longer acting some heedless role in a word game. Easy though it had been to imagine she’d be tense if this moment ever came to pass, Ariel never dreamed she’d be so short of breath, so terrified. Her mouth was drier than that conundrum shadow. Why wait?
“I’ve come a long way to meet him, Mrs. Montoya—”
“Sarah. Let’s go, then. You can stay at Pajarito tonight if you like, and if not, my son can bring you back to the Hill.”
Ariel took Bonnie Jean aside to say she couldn’t explain everything right now, but would later. Then she kissed Granna on the forehead and left. As they passed the rusting guard tower where, back when Kip and Brice were boys, all who entered or left Los Alamos had to produce a security pass, Ariel asked Sarah to tell her about Kip, what he was like, how his health was, whether he ever mentioned her.
“He’s given up hope of ever seeing you. Doesn’t talk much about it, but not because he doesn’t care. He’s no complainer. Private man, fragile and tough at the same time, not somebody who tolerates prying. But I’ve found if I show I’m curious and bide my time, he tends to open up.”
“That sounds like advice.”
“I guess. Although with you, who knows? He’ll probably act very different.”
“Not knowing him, I won’t be able to tell one way or the other.” Sarah said, “It’s uncanny how much you two look alike.” They traced the switchbacks hugging the canyon cliffs. Ariel’s ears popped. Yawn, take a deep breath, calm yourself.
At the same time, two others traveled an anxious road, past thirteen cornfields and lands rich with alfalfa and pecans. Down through Sabinal hamlet they drove, through sweet cedar thickets, with the Ladrón and Gallinas and Dátil looming against the horizon, mountains named for robbers and chickens and dates. Then on into Bernardo, where the junction would take them on a final leg past desert willows and wild verbena, through arid country the Rio Grande could not water. Flaming sunset behind them. Nambé behind, too. Delfino wondered aloud if it was fair to have left Marcos shouldering the burden of letting the others know what they’d set out to do. But fairness, it struck Kip, hadn’t ever been part of the equation with regard to Dripping Spring, or Long Tieng, for that matter.
“I’d hate to think I was a burden to Marcos.”
“How’s that?”
“Hitching the boy to my war.”
Kip said, “Marcos is solid, like all you Montoyas. He wouldn’t have agreed if he didn’t think it was fair or right. He’s up to handling rough problems.”
Delfino grabbed a glance at Kip, then turned his gaze back to the road, over the steering wheel. “You mentioned something like that yesterday. He have problems besides this load we dropped on him?”
Franny was too much to broach, Kip thought. “Point is, he’ll do everything right.”
Delfino had been gone only a few days but his bungalow, framed in the truck headlights, had already taken on the weary air of abandonment. The brown siding and gray windows reminded him of a dead sparrow, its feathers