The Dark Place

'God,” she said, “aren't you ever satisfied?'

'I am satisfied. I couldn't be more satisfied.” He put his other hand into her robe and embraced her with both arms. “I'm just being friendly.'

Julie put down her glass to hold his face in both hands. “Mmm, I feel friendly, too. But I haven't called into the office yet to let them know I'm back. I think I'd better do that.'

'That's supposed to motivate me to let go?'

'And the sooner we dress, the sooner we get some dinner.'

'The restaurant doesn't open for another hour.'

'And we've just killed the last of the sherry. If you want some more, we need to go over to the lodge.'

'That's different.” Gideon kissed her and promptly stood up. “You call your office and I'll dress. Or would you like me to help you into your clothes while you're on the phone? It'd save time.'

'No, thanks. I don't think it would work, somehow.'

* * * *

The elderly woman at the wicker writing desk looked up from her letter and peered irritatedly over the tops of her reading glasses.

'Be quiet, you children,” she said, her voice quivering with annoyance. “Go outside and play.'

But the two little boys, falling over themselves in their excitement, dropping their quarters and scrambling after them under chairs, ran unheeding down the elegant old lobby of Lake Quinault Lodge to the far wall, where a table with an electronic game imbedded in its top stood anachronistically among the potted plants and fine old 1920s furniture. Once there, they dropped into the chairs with blissful, adult sighs, inserted their coins, and fell at once into deep trances over the screen, which emitted twitters, splutters, and beeps that could be heard all over the sedate lobby. On its perch the parrot muttered and complained.

Gideon smiled at Julie. “Well, you wanted the twentieth century. Welcome to it.'

'I love it,” she said, laughing and snuggling farther into her chair, her legs tucked beneath her.

Gideon sipped his amontillado and leaned back, enjoying the crackling fire in the huge brick fireplace. His wicker chair creaked dryly when he moved, a clean, leathery, masculine sound that went well with the sherry.

The woman at the writing desk, unable to bear the noise of the game table any longer, swept up her papers with a snort and marched out. On her way she stopped briefly near Gideon and Julie, her writing materials gathered against a formidable bosom.

'They shouldn't allow those things in here,” she said.

'I agree with you,” Gideon said. When she was gone he turned to Julie. “Did she mean the machines or the kids?'

'I don't know,” she said, laughing. “Both, probably.'

'Well, I agree with her.'

'Gideon,” Julie said after they had both looked into the fire again for a while, “I've been wondering why those Indians would have left anything as valuable as a spear behind for the Zanders to find. It must take a long time to make one.'

'They were probably surprised and left in a hurry. Anyway, I don't imagine that time management is a particular problem for them. Besides, the binding was rotten and the shaft was split. Those are what take all the time, you know. The point's nothing.'

'No, I didn't know. There's a lot they don't teach you in school. Do you think they've deserted the place now?'

'I think so. The Zanders may have been the first people to stumble on that ledge. And now us. They've probably gone even farther from the trails and the people.'

'That would mean going higher into the mountains. It's going to be awfully wet and cold up there.” She moved her head slowly back and forth, letting her lips brush the rim of the glass. “What a horrible life they must have. Shouldn't we be trying to find them?'

'I'm not sure if we should or we shouldn't,” he said, debating with himself as well as with her. “Looking at the historical record, it's hard to make a case for primitive people's lives being much improved by contact with the outside world. They don't have immunities to common diseases, their mores can't stand the shock, their values get screwed up. What would we do with them, anyway? Put shoes and socks on them and send them to junior college? Put them on a reservation?'

'I know all that,” she said impatiently, “but this is a tiny, frightened band of people cowering out there in the woods, living in leaky huts in a rain forest, for God's sake. And if they really move higher they'll be in the snow! We could at least get some clothing to them, and food, and tell them they don't have anything to be afraid of.'

'Except the FBI. Don't forget, your wee, timorous, cowering band has committed at least two murders, if we're right. Probably three.'

'You don't really think they'd be taken to jail...put on trial...?'

'I don't see what choice the FBI would have. If they could find them.'

'So we just leave them there?'

Gideon hadn't meant to mislead her. “No, I want to find them, too, but it has to be done right. I want time to do some research, to think through the implications for them and for us, to get ready. I'd like to go next spring, after the rainy season.'

'You? Do you mean alone? In the rain forest? Just you?'