The Sparrow

D.W.

'Well, now, I cain't say as I'm inclined to rush into a decision like that.' D.W. took a sip of the meat broth Anne had brought him and then laid his head back against the hammock chair. His gaze traveling down the long meandering ridge of his nasal bones, he fixed her with a look of judicious consideration. 'I thought maybe I'd save my strength up so's I can watch some mud dry later on.'

She smiled, and it was gratifying that he could still make people smile.

He kept the mug in his hands for a while, to warm them, but then began to worry that it would slip out of his fingers, so he set it aside on the little table that Sofia and Emilio had once used as a desk out in this hampiy. The shelter was his now, had become pretty close to a permanent residence for him, barring really bad weather. He liked to be out where he could see the southern mountains or look northeast to find the line where the plains merged into sky. Manuzhai or Jimmy carried him down to the apartment if the weather looked to get ugly and then carried him back up to the hampiy when things settled down; he couldn't climb the cliff anymore on his own. Emilio stayed with him nights, so he wouldn't be alone. D.W. had worried about being a pain in the ass for everyone but felt better about it when Sofia told him, 'It is your duty to let us help. Even your Jesus knew that: taking care of the sick is a commandment. It's a mitzvah for us.'

'Finish that soup,' said Anne, breaking into his reverie. 'Doctor's orders.'

' 'Finish that soup! You're pretty damn brisk,' he informed her indignantly, but he picked up the cup with both thin hands and forced himself to continue working on it until he'd drunk it all. He made a face, which was a little redundant given how he looked when he wasn't making a face. 'Everything tastes like metal,' he told her.

'I know, but the protein does you good.' Anne reached out and put a hand on his wrist for a brief squeeze.

She had tried everything she could think of. Half-killed him with parasiticides. Put him on an all-Earth diet from the lander stores. Boiled the rainwater he drank after passing it through all the filters and chemical treatments. Stopped the chemical treatments, thinking maybe they made it worse. Two or three times she thought they'd gotten the damned thing on the run, whatever the hell it was. He'd start to put on some weight, get some color and energy back, and then he'd slip again.

He was the only one affected. So, of course, they both wondered if he'd brought something with him, was carrying something from home. But all the crew members had been put through a fine-meshed medical sieve before they left, and D. W. Yarbrough had once been abundantly healthy, strong as a lean old racehorse. Maybe something had gone subtly wrong with his physiology: he was sequestering something that was usually excreted or some enzymatic process had gone to hell.

'It's not that bad, Annie,' he'd told her once. 'Most of the time, it's just bein' tired.'

'If you really loved me, you'd get well, dammit. I hate patients who refuse to make their doctors appear omnipotent. It's very rude.'

He knew bluster when he heard it. 'People are mortal,' he'd told her. 'You and I both know there's lots worse ways to go.'

Anne had turned away, blinking rapidly, but snuffled in a breath vigorously and got ahold of herself. When she spoke again, her voice was firm and irate. 'It's not the fact or the method, it's the timing that pisses me off.'

D.W. came back to the present with a start, wondering if he'd dozed off. 'C'mon,' he said, working his way forward in the hammock chair and then resting on its edge before standing. 'Let's walk. I'll blow off the mud today.'

'Right.' Anne slapped her hands on her knees and pushed herself up, shaking off the worry. 'Go for broke, I say. Live for the moment.'

They moved slowly, not saying much, walking along the gorge edge toward the southern mountains, D.W. setting the pace. Anne kept a careful eye on him, knowing that they shouldn't go very far because D.W. would have to walk back. Ordinarily, she could count on having someone to carry him home if he wore himself out, but they were alone in Kashan for the first time since the lander disaster. The Runa were out harvesting a flower called anukar. George, Marc and Jimmy had gone off with Supaari to see the city of Gayjur, at last. So there was no one around to help but Sofia, pregnant and nauseated, and Emilio, who was asleep. He'd been up most of the night with D.W., who'd had another bad time of it.

To Anne's surprise, and to his own, D.W. did all right. They got as far as their old place on the ledge, which had a comfortable flat spot and a good view of the ravine and the western sky. 'If I set down, you reckon you can haul my raggedy old ass up again?' D.W. asked her.

'Leverage, my darling. If you can dig your heels in, I can get you on your feet.' She let him take hold of her arm and leaned back to steady his descent before sitting down next to him. They were quiet a while, as he got his breath back.

'When I am gone—' he started. Anne opened her mouth, but he shut her up with a look. 'When I am gone, and I expect that's three, four days off now, Marc Robichaux will be de facto Father Superior. I can't make that appointment, but it'll be almost nine years till we can get a radio order back from Rome.' He stopped and, out of habit, scuffed his hand around in the dirt, feeling for pebbles, but he'd long since scoured the spot of rocks, so he gave up and let his hands go loose in his lap. 'Now listen up. Marc's a good man but he's not a leader, Anne. And Emilio surprises me sometimes but he's off in his own world a lot. Neither one of 'em is much good in a crisis —'

'Well, they've always had you or some other superior to rely on. Maybe they'd rise to the occasion.'

'Yeah. I've thought of that. But I worry about things. George is a good staff man, but I don't see him as a line officer, beggin' your pardon. If y'all don't get back, Anne, if this fuel idea of George's craps out? If you're here permanently, then you're going to need some kind of structure to keep from going nuts.' He paused. 'I been workin' it through in my mind. There's got to be one voice givin' the orders. I'm all for advice and consent, but you're too isolated and too vulnerable not to have some clear chain of command. One voice. But it don't have to be a Jesuit's voice, okay? Now, my opinion: you and Sofia are going to be the brains of the outfit. Don't argue with me, I ain't got the time nor the energy. The Quinn boy is bedrock. I want you to work it so Jimmy becomes recognized as the one who decides.'

She started to protest but, hearing it, she remembered the hours after Alan's death and the way Jimmy came through when they realized they were marooned. She nodded.

'Now, I've said something along these lines to Marc and Emilio. Not in these terms, but they understand what I'm saying. The real struggle will be gettin' Jim to accept that he's the best person for the job. He'll want you or Sofia to take over.' Yarbrough stopped. He lifted his arm and meant to put it around Anne's shoulders but that was more than he could manage, so he just put his hand over hers. 'Annie, you feel too much and Sofia thinks too damn quick for her own good. Jim's got a fine strong balance to him. Y'all give him the benefit of your intuition and your intelligence and your knowledge. But let him decide.'

'So Jimmy gets to be Elder after all,' she said, trying to lighten the moment a little. But it wasn't a light moment, so she told him, 'It's a good plan, D.W. I'll midwife it along as best I can.'

D.W. smiled and she felt his hand tighten a little around hers, but he only looked at the sky, talked out.

He meant to tell her about his grandmother, who'd lived to be ninety-four and didn't recommend it. He meant to tell her to watch that Supaari character, there was something about him, and Anne shouldn't let herself get blinded by sentiment. He meant to tell her how really happy he'd been, even these last months. He thought he had a few days left. But death has its own agenda and its own logic, and it caught them both unaware, with less warning than they expected.

'My God,' George breathed. 'There it is.'

'Jesus, Mary and Joseph,' Jimmy whispered. 'It was worth the wait.'

Marc Robichaux pulled himself away from the panorama and looked toward Supaari VaGayjur, serenely piloting the little powerboat through the buoyed channels toward the city. 'Sipaj, Supaari. We thank you for this,' he said quietly.

The Jana'ata merchant's chin lifted slightly in acknowledgment. He had planned their arrival thoughtfully, bringing them around the headland and into Radina Bay a little before second sundown. Ringed by three mountains, white stonework and red clay masonry gleaming in the lush pearlescent light, Gayjur embraced the crescent harbor in a long sweep from southeast to northwest; the deepening darkness hid the tangle of ships and derricks and