OCR Text |
Show 193 "O.K.," he repeated. Momentarily, he shut his eyes, expecting the now-healthy, beautiful creature to bolt. The marten watched him. She was inhaling the air of the place, chasing memory. Hunt watched. He was holding his breath. There was a sense, threshold sense, that something important would happen: a signal moment, some event. The marten sniffed the air with fervor. She stopped and lay down. She tucked her head on her blue bed. "No!" Hunt said. The marten's head lifted to him. "This isii." Hunt explained, too absorbed to feel foolish. "This is home. 'Home.' --This is where you want to be." The marten looked like she was unsure. Of something. She looked like Hunt had asked her: Do you want liver? Or mice? "Shit!" Hunt said, then: "This is your natural place!" Hunt moved to the carrier. He reached in. He drew the marten and his sweater out, let the sweater drop, felt the brief electrifying urge to hold the marten but instead set it forward at arm's length at the trail's edge. "Go," he said. The marten, standing, sniffed the foliage. It spied a beetle, moved, jumped, and devoured the bug. "Right," Hunt said. "That's right. Now you remember. Good. This is it - okay? Remember? --'Home.'" The marten looked over at Hunt. Did she smile? Hunt spun away and looked out at the valley- Crazy! This was crazy! The goddamned marten was being perverse! She knew this was her home; she |