Part 11 (2/2)

Except that she was stopped by the police instead. She was well beyond the city; she had been through several cities, and the sky had darkened. The landscape flattened and she fell into a drowsy rhythm in which she and the car were both pa.s.sengers in a small, impellent world defined by her headlights. It was something of a shock to have to stop. She sat in her car while the police light rotated behind her, and at regular intervals she watched her hands turn red on the steering wheel. She had never been stopped by the police before. In the rearview mirror she could see the policeman talking to his radio. His door was slightly open; the light was on inside his car. He got out and came to talk to her. She turned her motor off. ”Lady,” he said, and she wondered if policemen on television always called women lady because that was what real policemen did, or if he had learned this watching television just as she had. ”Lady, you were flying. I clocked you at eighty.”

Eighty. Lily couldn't help but be slightly impressed. She had been twenty-five miles per hour over the limit without even realizing she was speeding. It suggested she could handle even faster speeds. ”Eighty,” she said contritely. ”You know what I think I should do? I think I've been driving too long, and I think I should just find a place to stay tonight. I think that would be best. I mean, eighty. That's too fast. Don't you think?”

”I really do.” The policeman removed a pen from the pocket inside his jacket.

”I won't do it again,” Lily told him. ”Please don't give me a ticket.”

”I could spare you the ticket,” the policeman said, ”and I could read in the paper tomorrow that you smashed yourself into a retaining wall not fifteen miles from here. I don't think I could live with myself. Give me your license. Just take it out of the wallet, please. Mattie Drake runs a little bed-and-breakfast place in Two Trees. You want the next exit and bear left. First right, first right again. Street dead-ends in Mattie's driveway. There's a sign on the lawn: MATTIE'S. Should be all lit up this time of night. It's a nice place and doesn't cost too much in the off season.” He handed Lily back her license and the ticket for her to sign. He took his copy. ”Get a good night's sleep,” he said, and in the silence she heard his boots scattering gravel from the shoulder of the road as he walked away.

She crumpled the ticket into the glove compartment and waited for him to leave. He shut off the rotating light, turned on the headlights, and outwaited her. He followed all the way to the next exit. So Lily had to take it.

She parked her car on the edge of Mattie's lawn. Moths circled the lights on the sign and on the porch. A large white owl slid through the dusky air, transformed by the lights beneath it into something angelic. A cricket landed on the sleeve of her linen suit. The sprinklers went on suddenly; the watery hiss erased the hum of insects, but the pathway to the door remained dry. Lily stood on the lighted porch and rang the bell.

The woman who answered wore blue jeans and a flannel s.h.i.+rt. She had the angular hips of an older woman, but her hair showed very little gray, just a small patch right at the forehead. ”Come in, darling,” she said. There was a faint southern softness in her voice. ”You look tired. Do you want a room? Have you come to see the caves? I'm Mattie.”

”Yes, of course,” Lily told her. ”I need a room. I met some people who were here last year. You really have to see these caves, they told me.”

”I'll have Katherine pack you a lunch if you like,” Mattie offered. ”It's beautiful hiking weather. You won't get nearly so hot as in the summer. You can go tomorrow.”

Lily borrowed the phone in the living room to call David. It sat on a small table between a gla.s.s ball with a single red rosebud frozen inside and a picture of the Virgin praying. The Virgin wore a blue mantilla and appeared to be suspended in a cloudless sky. The phone had a dial which Lily spun. She was so used to the tune their number made on the touch phone at work that she missed hearing it. She listened to the answering machine, heard her voice which sounded nothing like her voice, suggesting that she leave a message. ”I'm in Two Trees at Mattie's bed-and-breakfast,” she said. ”I had this sudden impulse to see the caves. I may stay a couple of days. Will you call Harriet and tell her I won't be in tomorrow? It's real slow. There won't be a problem.” She would have told David she missed him, but she ran out of time. She would have only said it out of politeness anyway. They had been married nine years. She would miss him later. She would begin to miss him when she began to miss herself. He might be missing her, too, just about then. It would be nice if all these things happened at the same time.

She took the key from Mattie, went upstairs, used the bathroom at the end of the hall, used someone else's toothbrush, rinsing it out repeatedly afterward, unlocked her door, removed all her clothes, and cried until she fell asleep.

In the morning Lily lay in bed and watched the sun stretch over the quilt and onto the skin of her arms and her hands. She looked around the room. The bed was narrow and had a headpiece made of iron. A pattern of small pink flowers papered the walls. On the bookcase next to the bed a china lady held a china umbrella with one hand and extended the other, palm up, to see if the rain had stopped. There were books. Beauty's Secret, one of them said on the spine. Lily opened it, but it turned out to be about horses.

A full-length mirror hung on the back of the bedroom door. Lily didn't notice until the sunlight touched its surface, doubling in brightness. She rose and stood in front of it, backlit by the sunny window, frontlit by the mirror so that she could hardly see. She leaned in closer. Last night's crying had left her eyes red and the lids swollen. She looked at herself for a long time, squinting and changing the angle. Who was she? There was absolutely no way to tell.

The smell of coffee came up the stairs and through the shut door. Lily found her clothes on the desk chair where she had left them. She put them on: stockings, a fuchsia blouse, an eggsh.e.l.l business suit, heels. She used the bathroom, someone else's hairbrush as well as someone else's toothbrush, and came downstairs.

”You can't go hiking dressed like that,” Mattie told her, and of course Lily couldn't. ”You have nothing else? What size shoe do you wear? A six and a half? Six? Tiny little thing, aren't you? Katherine might have something that will do.” She raised her voice. ”Katherine? Katherine!”

Katherine came through the doorway at the bottom of the stairs, drying her hands on a dish towel. She was somewhat younger than Mattie though older than Lily, middle forties, perhaps, and heavier, a dark-skinned woman with straight black hair. On request she produced jeans for Lily, a sleeveless T-s.h.i.+rt, a red sweats.h.i.+rt, gray socks, and sneakers. Everything was too big for Lily. Everything was wearable.

Mattie took her through the screen door and out the back porch after breakfast. Beyond the edge of Mattie's sprinklers, the lawn stopped abruptly at a hill of sand and manzanita. Mattie had stowed a lunch and a canteen in a yellow day pack. She began to help Lily into it. ”You go up,” Mattie said. ”All the way up. And then down. You can see the trail from the other side of the fence. Watch for rattlers. You hiked much?” Lily was having trouble slipping her left arm under the second strap. It caught at the elbow, her arm pinned behind her. Mattie eased the pack off and began again.

”Oh, yes,” Lily a.s.sured her. ”I've hiked a lot.” Mattie looked unconvinced. ”I'm a rock climber,” said Lily. ”That's the kind of hiking I'm used to. Crampons and ropes and mallets. I don't usually wear them on my back. I wear them on my belt. I take groups out. Librarians and schoolteachers and beauticians. You know.”

”Well, there's just a trail here,” said Mattie doubtfully. ”I don't suppose you can get into trouble as long as you stay on the trail. Your shoes don't really fit well. I'm afraid you'll blister.”

”I once spent three days alone in the woods without food or shelter and it snowed. I was getting a merit badge.” The day pack was finally in place. ”Thank you,” Lily said.

”Wait here. I'm going to get some moleskin for your feet. And I'm going to send Jep along with you. Jep has a lot of common sense. And Jep knows the way. You'll be glad of the company,” Mattie told her. She disappeared back into the house.

”It was in Borneo,” Lily said softly, so that Mattie wouldn't hear. ”You want to talk about blisters. You try walking in the snows of Borneo.”

Jep turned out to be a young collie. One ear flopped over in proper collie fas.h.i.+on. One pointed up like a shepherd's. ”I've heard some nice things about you,” Lily told him. He followed Lily out to the gate and then took the lead, his tail and hindquarters moving from side to side with every step. He set an easy pace. The trail was unambiguous. The weather was cool when they started. In an hour or so, Lily removed her sweats.h.i.+rt and Jep's tongue drooped from his mouth. Everyone felt good.

The sun was not yet overhead when Lily stopped for lunch. ”Eleven twenty-two,” she told Jep. ”Judging solely by the sun.” Katherine had packed apple juice and cold chicken and an orange with a seam cut into the peel and a chocolate Hostess cupcake with a cream center for dessert. Lily had not seen a cupcake like that since she had stopped taking a lunch to school. She sat with her back against a rock overhang and shared it with Jep, giving him none of the cream filling. There was a red place on her left heel, and she covered it with moleskin. Jep lay on his side. Lily felt drowsy. ”You want to rest awhile?” she asked Jep. ”I don't really care if we make the caves, and you've seen them before. I could give a d.a.m.n about the caves, if you want to know the truth.” She yawned. Somewhere to her left a small animal scuttled in the brush. Jep hardly lifted his head. Lily made a pillow out of Katherine's red sweats.h.i.+rt and went to sleep, leaning against the overhang.

When she woke, the sun was behind her. Jep was on his feet, looking at something above her head. His tail wagged slowly and he whined once. On the ground, stretching over him and extending several more feet, lay the shadow of a man, elongated legs, one arm up as though he were waving. When Lily moved away from the overhang and turned to look, he was gone.

It unsettled her. She supposed that a seasoned hiker would have known better than to sleep on the trail. She turned to go back to Mattie's and had only walked a short way, less than a city block, when she saw something she had missed coming from the other direction. A woman was painted onto the flat face of a rock which jutted up beside the trail. The perspective was somewhat flattened, and the image had been simplified, which made it extraordinarily compelling somehow. Especially for a painting on a rock. When had Lily ever seen anything painted on a rock other than KELLY LOVES ERIC or ANGELA PUTS OUT? The woman's long black hair fell straight down both sides of her face. Her dark eyes were half closed; her skin was brown. She was looking down at her hands, which she held cupped together, and she was dressed all in red. Wherever the surface of the rock was the roughest, the paint had cracked, and one whole sleeve had flaked off entirely. Lily leaned down to touch the missing arm. There was a silence as if the birds and the snakes and the insects had all suddenly run out of breath. Lily straightened and the ordinary noises began again. She followed Jep back down the trail.

”I didn't get to the caves,” she admitted to Mattie. ”I'll go again tomorrow. But I did see something intriguing: the painting. The woman painted on the rock. I'm used to graffiti, but not this kind. Who painted her?”

”I don't know,” said Mattie. ”She's been here longer than I have. We get a lot of farm labor through, seasonal labor, you know. I always thought she looked Mexican. And you see paintings like that a lot in Mexico. Rock Madonnas. I read somewhere that the artists usually use their own mother's faces for inspiration. The writer said you see these paintings by the roadside all the time and that those cultures in which men idolize their mothers are the most s.e.xist cultures in the world. Interesting article. She's faded a lot over the years.”

”You don't often see a Madonna dressed in red,” Lily said.

”No, you don't,” Mattie agreed. ”Blue usually, isn't it?” She helped Lily out of the pack. ”Did you get blisters?” she asked. ”I worried about you.”

”No,” said Lily, although the spot on her heel had never stopped bothering her. ”I was fine.”

”You know who might be able to tell you about the painting? Allison Beale. Runs the county library but lives here in Two Trees. She's been here forever. You could run over tonight and ask her if you like. I'll give you the address. She likes company.”

So Lily got back in her car with Allison Beale's address in her pocket and a map to Allison's house. She was supposed to go there first and then pick up some dinner at a little restaurant called the Italian Kitchen, but she turned left instead of right and then left again to a bar she'd noticed on her way into Two Trees, with a neon martini gla.s.s tipping in the window. The only other customer, a man, stood with his back to her, studying the jukebox selections but choosing nothing. Lily sat at the counter and ordered a margarita. It came without salt and the ice floated inside it uncrushed. ”You're the lady staying with Mattie,” the bartender informed her. ”My name is Egan. Been to the caves?”

”Lily,” Lily said. ”I don't like caves. I can get lost in the supermarket. Wander for days without a sweater in the frozen foods. I'm afraid to think what would happen to me in a cave.”

”These caves aren't deep,” the bartender said, wiping the counter in front of her with the side of his hand. ”Be a shame to come all the way to Two Trees and not even see the caves.”

”Take a native guide,” the other man suggested. He had come up behind her while she ordered.

She slid around on the bar stool.

”Henry,” he told her. He wore a long black braid and a turquoise necklace. The last time Lily had seen him he had been dressed as a policeman. She'd had no sense of his hair being long like this.

”You're an Indian,” Lily said.

”Can't put anything past you.” He sat down on the stool next to hers. Lily guessed he was somewhere in his thirties, just about her own age. ”Take off your wedding ring and I'll buy you a drink.”

She slid the ring off her finger. Her hands were cold and it didn't even catch at the knuckle. She laid it on the napkin. ”It's off,” she said. ”But that's all I'm taking off. I hope we understand each other.”

The bartender brought her a second margarita. ”The first one was on the house,” he said. ”Because you're a guest in Two Trees. The second one is on Henry. We'll worry about the third when you get to it.”

Lily got to it about an hour later. She could easily have done without it. She was already quite drunk. She and Henry and the bartender were still the only people in the bar.

”It just intrigued me, you know?” she said. The bartender stood draped across the counter next to her. Henry leaned on one elbow. Lily could hear that she was slurring her words. She tried to sharpen them. ”It seemed old. I thought it intrigued me enough to go talk to the librarian about it, but I was wrong about that.” She laughed and started on her third drink. ”It should be restored,” she added. ”Like the Sistine Chapel.”

”I can tell you something about it,” the bartender said. ”I can't swear any of it's true, but I know what people say. It's a picture of a miracle.” He glanced at Henry. ”Happened more than a hundred years ago. It was painted by a man, a local man, I don't think anyone remembers who. And this woman appeared to him one day, by the rock. She held out her hands, cupped, just the way he drew them, like she was offering him something, but her hands were empty. And then she disappeared again.”

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