couldn't distinguish his memory of the canyon as he'd come up it looking eagerly for Camilla, from that of the twilight canyon he'd hiked up and down during his abortive attempt to leave.
At least Jake was soon able to confirm that the changes had not been only in his imagination. Consistent with his experience at twilight, Jake this morning needed only a few minutes to walk down to within sight of the Colorado. If this river was indeed the one he'd known for four months by that name. This was last night's transformed torrent complete with unexpected rapids, not the Colorado he'd followed down here yesterday from camp.
Detouring slightly, he stopped to look at the place where he seemed to remember Camilla shooting the peculiar bear. The remains of the beast were still there, and something had been chewing on it during the night. What was left was starting to draw flies and ants.
Jake stood there for some time looking at the mess. When he closed his eyes and opened them again, it was still there.
In broad daylight the peculiar landscape along the big river was no less strange than it had been at nightfall —in a way it was even stranger now, because now Jake could see the unfamiliar formations all too plainly.
Still gazing at these geographical impossibilities, his mind a numbed blank, he heard a sound, and saw Camilla, dressed mostly in yesterday's clothes, approaching him from a little way downstream along the river-bank. Against the morning sunlight she was wearing a woman's broad-brimmed gardening hat. She really had been fishing, and was carrying the proof, a rod and line, and three fair-sized trout by a willow twig threaded expertly through their gills. The fish still had enough life left in them to twitch their tails.
'Good morning,' Camilla said tentatively, as if she and Jake were two people who barely knew each other. And maybe, he thought, that was the truth.
'Morning,' he responded.
'I caught some fish for breakfast.'
'I've had mine. Thanks for the coffee. I'm going home. Back to camp. Come with me if you want. I expect I can find the way in daylight. If not, you can show me.'
Her face fell and her voice became hushed. 'I wish to God I could do that, Jake.'
He stood looking at her, not knowing what to do or think or say.
'Jake?' She put a hand on his arm, almost timidly. 'Walk me back to the house, sweetie, before you go. I have to talk to you.'
Again he let her lead him. The thought crossed his mind that it wasn't any good pretending that he could do anything else right now.
Back at the house, Camilla immediately got to work cleaning the fish, working outdoors, on a rough wooden table just outside the kitchen window. A calico house cat, acting about halfway tame, appeared from somewhere and took a keen interest in the proceedings.
Wielding a small cleaver, Camilla expertly whacked off a fish head. Then she took up a sharp thin-bladed knife and began to gut the slippery body. Her face looked grim, but Jake didn't think it was because of the messy work.
Jake said: 'Go ahead and talk.'
'I'm sorry…' she began, then didn't know how to continue.
Before she could say anything more Camilla began to cry. With the fish in one hand and knife in the other, she couldn't deal with her tears very well, and wound up wiping her eyes on the sleeve and then the shoulder of her man's shirt.
Jake's heart sank, feeling sorry for her. Whatever that old bastard had done, he had done now to both of them…
The cat, its interest now concentrated in the fish guts Camilla had thrown to the ground, was getting itself entangled in pink and yellow strings.
All these tears weren't doing Jake any good. To get Camilla talking rationally again he asked her: 'What'll happen if I hike upstream along the creek instead of down?'
'Same thing. I mean you won't be able to get nowhere.' As Camilla got more upset, Jake noticed, her grammar deteriorated.
He said: 'Eat your fish for breakfast if you want. Then I want you to come away from here with me. Or anyway we'll give it a good try.'
She hesitated. Then she said: 'All right,' in a defeated tone, and resumed her work.
When the trout were cleaned Camilla took them into the house and dipped them in flour, then fried them with a touch of bacon grease.
She tried to persuade Jake to eat at least one of the fish; presently he gave in, thinking he didn't know when his next meal might be. No doubt about it, the fresh-caught trout was good.
Still there was no sign of Edgar, in or around the house. Neither Camilla or Jake had mentioned him.
When breakfast was over, Camilla started to scrub out the frying pan.
'What do you want to do that for? Let the old fart clean up after you for once.'
Again, as if she were only humoring Jake, she said: 'All right.' She ran some water in the pan and left it soaking in the sink.
Then the two of them went outside again, Camilla carrying the shotgun with her as before.
This time Jake led the way, upstream along the creek, in silence. There were places, away from the creek, where the little cliff down which the waterfall came tumbling didn't look too difficult to climb. Before he left the creek to start climbing he remembered to refill his canteen.
Climbing after Jake, Camilla, on reaching a difficult place, handed up the shotgun for him to hold.
Jake accepted the weapon and looked it over. Everything seemed in order. 'Edgar won't care if I have a shotgun, huh?' He reached down with his free hand to pull Camilla up beside him.
'He won't mind that, no.' Her voice was sweet and soothing.
Jake stared at her and shook his head.
Soon they had reached the top of the small cliff. There were no more cliffs in sight above this one, no more big climbs, only a jumble of rocks, all sizes up to that of a small house, stretching away in every direction, across terrain that on the large scale was generally level.
He wanted to go east, of course, but still the way was practically blocked.
Jake persisted, and a few minutes' additional clambering brought him all the way atop a minor rise that had to be the absolute rim. But this rugged height was as impossibly close to the house as the river was close to the house in the opposite direction. As if the great depth of the Canyon had not yet been established, and the rim were no more than a few hundred feet above the Colorado.
Standing here on this version of the South Rim, and looking in the general direction of the morning sun, Jake could see for miles. It wasn't very much like the South Rim he'd known for the past four months, and there was no sign of Canyon Village in the distance. For all he could tell from here, this strange and unnatural landscape before him was totally uninhabited.
He made a tentative attempt to do some exploring, at least, to the east. But the tilted slabs of rock that so obviously blocked his path simply continued to do so, and no hidden pathway became apparent. He was effectively prevented from traveling in that direction. The creek had disappeared—it must, thought Jake, have its source under some of these slabs. He could try looking for that source. But he was going to get some answers first.
He considered trying to go west instead, then circling around. But going west across this field of jagged rocks was no more feasible than going east. There had to be some better way.
Carefully Jake descended from the little rise, and made his way with difficulty, climbing over tilted slabs, back to the top of the waterfall-cliff.
Camilla was waiting for him there, just where he'd left her.
He set down the shotgun and took her by both arms—not a hard grip, just firm. Very firm. 'All right, tell me. You knew that once I came up Deep Canyon I'd—I'd get stuck here, in this—this place. That's when it happened, isn't it?'
Camilla tried to pull away, but Jake wasn't letting her do that. So she relaxed and said: 'That's when it happened, when you came up the canyon with me. Jake, I'm sorry—but I couldn't help myself. I had to do something.'
His breakfast was turning to lead in the pit of his stomach. 'You mean you knew once you brought me here, I
