The Sparrow - Mary Doria Russell [190]
D.W. came back to the present with a start, wondering if he’d dozed off. "C’mon," he said, working his way forward in the hammock chair and then resting on its edge before standing. "Let’s walk. I’ll blow off the mud today."
"Right." Anne slapped her hands on her knees and pushed herself up, shaking off the worry. "Go for broke, I say. Live for the moment."
They moved slowly, not saying much, walking along the gorge edge toward the southern mountains, D.W. setting the pace. Anne kept a careful eye on him, knowing that they shouldn’t go very far because D.W. would have to walk back. Ordinarily, she could count on having someone to carry him home if he wore himself out, but they were alone in Kashan for the first time since the lander disaster. The Runa were out harvesting a flower called anukar. George, Marc and Jimmy had gone off with Supaari to see the city of Gayjur, at last. So there was no one around to help but Sofia, pregnant and nauseated, and Emilio, who was asleep. He’d been up most of the night with D.W, who’d had another bad time of it.
To Anne’s surprise, and to his own, D.W. did all right. They got as far as their old place on the ledge, which had a comfortable flat spot and a good view of the ravine and the western sky. "If I set down, you reckon you can haul my raggedy old ass up again?" D.W. asked her.
"Leverage, my darling. If you can dig your heels in, I can get you on your feet." She let him take hold of her arm and leaned back to steady his descent before sitting down next to him. They were quiet a while, as he got his breath back.
"When I am gone—" he started. Anne opened her mouth, but he shut her up with a look. "When I am gone, and I expect that’s three, four days off now, Marc Robichaux will be de facto Father Superior. I can’t make that appointment, but it’ll be almost nine years till we can get a radio order back from Rome." He stopped and, out of habit, scuffed his hand around in the dirt, feeling for pebbles, but he’d long since scoured the spot of rocks, so he gave up and let his hands go loose in his lap. "Now listen up. Marc’s a good man but he’s not a leader, Anne. And Emilio surprises me sometimes but he’s off in his own world a lot. Neither one of ’em is much good in a crisis—"
"Well, they’ve always had you or some other superior to rely on. Maybe they’d rise to the occasion."
"Yeah. I’ve thought of that. But I worry about things. George is a good staff man, but I don’t see him as a line officer, beggin’ your pardon. If y’all don’t get back, Anne, if this fuel idea of George’s craps out? If you’re here permanently, then you’re going to need some kind of structure to keep from going nuts." He paused. "I been workin’ it through in my mind. There’s got to be one voice givin’ the orders. I’m all for advice and consent, but you’re too isolated and too vulnerable not to have some clear chain of command. One voice. But it don’t have to be a Jesuit’s voice, okay? Now, my opinion: you and Sofia are going to be the brains of the outfit. Don’t argue with me, I ain’t got the time nor the energy. The Quinn boy is bedrock. I want you to work it so Jimmy becomes recognized as the one who decides."
She started to protest but, hearing it, she remembered the hours after Alan’s death and the way Jimmy came through when they realized they were marooned. She nodded.
"Now, I’ve said something along these lines to Marc and Emilio. Not in these terms, but they understand what I’m saying. The real struggle will be gettin’ Jim to accept that he’s the best person for the job. He’ll want you or Sofia to take over." Yarbrough stopped. He lifted his arm and meant to put it around Anne’s shoulders but that was more than he could manage, so he just put his hand over hers. "Annie, you feel too much and Sofia thinks too damn quick for her own good. Jim’s got a fine strong balance to him. Y’all give him the benefit of your intuition and your intelligence and your knowledge.