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Show 112 and Rising 24 Esther focused on the barracks, poised on s t i l t s over canyon rocks in case the river ran high. They climbed the wooden stairs in silence. "Thanks for coming, Mrs. Jensen." "Bring me some water, Alf." She noticed Cookson's boots, crusted and crimped with dried river sand, standing by the bed. "This heat doesn't do him any favors." She tugged at his pants. His stomach had bloated; his blood had pooled. Esther pulled his eyes closed, but one opened again. "Any coins, big ones?" Ed Bishop handed her a 50<£ piece. "He won't need this long w i l l he?" "Don't worry, Ed, i t ' s your again when the l i d goes down." Esther closed the eye that stared and put the coin on the socket. As she cut open the undershirt, Alf returned with a basin. Esther's hands swished the river water and the coolness lapped at her elbows. She reached for the soap, turning i t over and over, sliding i t under her wedding band and over her knuckles, rotating i t in the nap of white washcloth. She mopped Cookson's stillness, lathered his neck, his chest, his groin. The men looked away from Esther, nose to nose with the cold body. "Fresh clothes?" "Right here, ma'am." A white shirt with pearl buttons, washpants, clean underwear. Esther dressed him as i f for a new day. Cookson was ready. "The boys w i l l have a box here soon," someone said. "Until then," Esther said, "leave this Bible here." She placed the heavy book on his stomach to flatten the distention, then laced her |
