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Show RTVER "C'mon Thor," I said. "Give me a break." Thor wouldn't give. "How could any creature on God's green earth," his brown eyes seemed to say, "get themselves into such a cold, hopeless place? I've got more sense than you do, and I'm a damn dog." He'd act like he didn't know me sometimes, and there we were, the only creatures for miles around (excepting the bugs and the fishes) and both of us in the same twelve-foot boat. Sometimes his contempt would be edged with despair. Today he looked so frozen, forlorn, and certain of his own doom that I climbed over and petted and scratched him in a vain effort to cheer him up. "Listen, Thor," I said. "I swear you'll chase the deer around Lonestar Peak again." His eyes remained frozen with despair. He wasn't buying it. Thor surely had more common sense than I did. Sometimes I think he had a better handle on the cosmos and knew his fate. Maybe he just knew me. We drifted through two or three days of miserable weather. Time seemed to stop and the days became indistinguishable. I spent the good part of one afternoon in the rusted wreck of an old Packard, waiting out the rain. In the evening in camp I'd root around in the underbrush or driftwood or pull dead branches off of trees till I had enough kindling to build a fire. I began to appreciate the spiritual consolation to be found in fire. On white foggy mornings after a night on the ground I'd feel as if I'd been bone-cold for days and the only thing that would bring me back to life would be the friendly crackle of a fire. This part of the voyage was haunted by memories of the raft trip. The sights were strangely familiar, like a dreamscape, and the place names brought back a flood of memories of Rosie and the raft. Being cold and lonely didn't help much, either. -162- |