The Anything Box

'Come on in the tent,' Ellena tugged at his arm. 'We've got a fire going.
It got too cold to sit outdoors.'
Then she was introducing the men in the flare and hiss of the Coleman
lantern while they warmed themselves at the little tin stove that was
muttering over the pine knots just pushed in.
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'This is Jess and Doc and Stubby and Dave.' She looked up at Crae. 'My
husband, Crae.'
'Howdy,' said Crae.
'Hi, Crae.' Jess stuck out a huge hand. 'Fine wife you got there. Snatched
us from death's door. Hot coffee and that ever lovin' old bottle. We were
colder'n a dead Eskimo's—wup—ladies present.'
Ellena laughed. 'Well, lady or not, I know the rest of that one. But now
that we've got fish again, why don't you men stay for supper?' She glanced
over at Crae.
'Sure,' said Crae, carefully cordial. 'Why not?'
'Thanks,' said Jess. 'But we've stayed too long now. Fascinating woman,
your wife, Crae. Couldn't tear ourselves away, but now the old man's home—' He
roared with laughter. 'Guess we better slope, huh, fellers? Gotta pitch camp
before dark.'
'Yeah. Can't make any time with the husband around,' said Stubby. Then he
leaned over and stage-whispered to Ellena, 'I ain't so crazy 'bout fishing.
How ’bout letting me know when he's gone again?'
After the laughter, Crae said, 'Better have another jolt before you get out
into the weather.' So the bottle made the rounds slowly and finally everyone
ducked out of the tent into the bleakly windy out-of-doors. The men piled into
the car and Jess leaned out the window.
'Thought we'd camp up above you,' he roared against the wind, 'but it's
flooded out. Guess well go on downstream to the other campground.' He looked
around admiringly. 'Tight little setup you got here.'
'Thanks,' yelled Crae. 'We think so too.'
'Well, be seeing you!' And the car surged up the sharp drop from the road,
the little trailer swishing along in back. Crae and Ellena watched them
disappear over the railroad.
'Well,' Crae turned and laid his fist against Ellena's cheek and pushed
lightly. 'How about chow, Frau? Might as well get supper over with. Looks like
we're in for some weather.'
'Okay, boss,' Ellena's eyes were shining. 'Right away, sir!' And she
scurried away, calling back, 'But you'd better get the innards out of those
denizens of the deep so I can get them in the pan.'
'Okay.' Crae moved slowly and carefully as though something might break if
he moved fast. He squatted by the edge of the stream and clumsily began to
clean the fish. When he had finished, his hands were numb from the icy snow
water and the persistent wind out of the west, but not nearly as numb as he
felt inside. He carried the fish over to the cook bench where Ellena shivered
over the two-burner stove.
'Here you are,' he said slowly and Ellena's eyes flew to his face.
He smiled carefully. 'Make them plenty crisp and step it up!'
Ellena's smile was relieved. 'Crisp it is!'
'Where's a rag to wipe my shoes off with? Shoulda worn my waders. There's
mud and water everywhere this year.'
'My old petticoat's hanging over there on the tree—if you don't mind an
embroidered shoe rag.'
Crae took down the cotton half-slip with eyelet embroidery around the
bottom.
'This is a rag?' he asked.
She laughed. 'It's ripped almost full length and the elastic's worn out. Go
ahead and use it.'
Crae worked out of his wet shoes and socks and changed into dry. Then he
lifted one shoe and the rag and sat hunched over himself on the log. With a
horrible despair, he felt all the old words bubbling and the scab peeling off
the hot sickness inside him. His fist tightened on the white rag until his
knuckles cracked. Desperately, he tried to change his thoughts, but the
bubbling putrescence crept through his mind and poured its bitterness into his
mouth and he heard himself say bitterly,
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'How long were they here before I showed up?'
Ellena turned slowly from the stove, her shoulders drooping, her face
despairing.
'About a half hour.' Then she straightened and looked desperately over at
him. 'No, Crae, please. Not here. Not now.'
Crae looked blindly down at the shoe he still held in one hand. He clenched
his teeth until his jaws ached, but the words pushed through anyway—biting and
venomous.
'Thirty miles from anywhere. Just have to turn my back and they come
flocking! You can't tell me you don't welcome them! You can't tell me you
don't encourage them and entice them and—' He slammed his shoe down and
dropped the rag beside it. In two strides he caught her by both shoulders and
shook her viciously. 'Hellamighty! You even built a fire in the tent for them!
What's the matter, woman, are you slipping? You've got any number of ways to
take their minds off the cold without building a fire!'
'Crae! Crae!' She whispered pleadingly.
'Don't 'Crae, Crae' me!' he backhanded her viciously across the face. She
cried out and fell sideways against the tree. Her hair caught on the rough
stub of a branch as she started to slide down against the trunk. Crae grabbed
one of her arms and yanked her up. Her caught hair strained her head backwards
as he lifted. And suddenly her smooth sun-tinted throat fitted Crae's two
spasmed hands. For an eternity his thumbs felt the sick pounding of her pulse.
Then a tear slid slowly down from one closed eye, trickling towards her ear.
Crae snatched his hand away before the tear could touch it. Ellena slid to
her knees, leaving a dark strand of hair on the bark of the tree. She got
slowly to her feet. She turned without a word or look and went into the tent.
Crae slumped down on the log, his hands limp between his knees, his head
hanging. He lifted his hands and looked at them incredulously, then he flung
them from him wildly, turned and shoved his face hard up against the rough