The Raven's Gift - Don Rearden [73]
JOHN DUCKED DOWN to crawl into the plywood steam bath. He felt as if he were entering a child’s fort. The first small room, barely big enough for two men to undress while hunched over, was a dry room. There were two overturned buckets to sit on, two red towels Carrie had put inside for them, and another bucket of water with a hand-carved wooden ladle.
“First steam, eh,” Carl said. “We undress in here, then go inside. If it’s too hot, you come back out here to cool down. I’ll try not to steam you out, first time.”
He took a sip of water from the ladle and handed it to John. John held the wooden spoon to his lips and drank deeply. He realized he hadn’t tasted cold water in a while. The school’s well water tasted funny, so they had been adding a small amount of lime Gatorade mix to hide the iron. This water tasted clean and cool. Refreshing.
“Where’s the water from?”
“River,” Carl said as he pulled off his shirt and jeans. John followed suit, removing his coat and pulling off his shirt. He looked down at his pasty chest and felt a bit awkward. Carl stripped off his underwear, took another sip from the ladle, and pulled a knitted cap from a rusty nail on the wall.
“You might want to wear this to protect your head. Ears, too.”
“Is it cold in there?” John joked.
“This isn’t like one of your city-boy saunas. You’ll need it. Don’t want to burn your little white lobes.”
John took the blue knit cap and pulled it over his head and ears. Carl opened the plywood door and ducked inside. John followed and quickly closed the door. Inside, the temperature felt humid and tropical. Warm and relaxing. John could handle this. Suddenly it made sense why people chose this method to get clean. A person could just sweat a little, rinse off, and be refreshed.
They sat on bare plywood, in an area the size of a kitchen table. Sitting on his butt, with his legs pulled up, his head nearly touched the ceiling.
“We sit like this,” Carl said, tucking his head down and putting his legs beneath him. “I’ll just put a couple of scoops on at first. Put your head down so you don’t get burned.”
In front of them, the floor recessed, and in the space sat a large black and rusted barrel stove covered with smooth, fist-sized blue and grey river stones. In front of the stove a square tin held steaming-hot water. Carl grabbed the wooden handle in the water and pulled it out; a tin can was nailed to the end. He stirred the water and then poured a full can over the rocks.
With a hiss the water instantly turned to steam and a wall of heat slammed against John, nearly causing him to cry out in pain. Carl stirred the water in the can again and poured another cupful over the rocks, slower this time. The heat intensified and John tucked his head between his legs and pulled his arms and elbows in close. The heat burned against his flesh. He held his breath to keep from breathing the wet, fiery air.
“One more?” Carl asked.
John grunted out an “Okay.” This time he kept his head down, heard the hiss, and tensed his muscles to brace for the blast of burning heat. The air seared his skin and he felt as though he were inside a furnace.
“Hot enough?” Carl asked, joking.
“Yeah. Shit.”
“You can go out there and cool off.”
“Are you?”
“Not yet,” Carl said. “Feels too good.”
“Sure does,” John said, lying. His skin was on fire.
“One more. Then we’ll take a break and get water.”
John tensed for the hiss and groaned as the hot air burned against his shoulders, buttocks, and knees.
“Ak’a,” Carl said. “Kiircepaa. Hot, eh?”
The heat died down a little, and Carl waited for John to make a move. The heat was getting to his head, but he wanted to let Carl know he could take it. Or at least he could pretend to take it.
“You ready for water, or you want more?”
“Whatever,” John said. “Cold water sounds perfect.”
Carl waited. John pulled the door open and crawled out with the cloud of mist that erupted against the cold air in the entry. Carl followed and closed the door.