The Ruins

Mathias started picking at the dirt again, hunched into himself. 'I'm sorry I brought us here,' he said.

Jeff waved this aside; it seemed beside the point. 'We chose to come.'

Mathias sighed, dropped the tent stake. 'I don't think I can do it,' he said.

'I'll do it.'

'I mean agree to it-I can't agree to it.'

Jeff was silent, absorbing this; he hadn't expected it, had thought that Mathias would be the easiest to convince, the one to help him sway the others. 'Then we should put him out of his misery,' Jeff said. 'Get him drunk-pour the tequila down his throat, wait for him to pass out. And, you know…' He made a sharp gesture with his arm, waving it through the air, a blow. It was harder than he would've thought to put the thing into words.

Mathias stared at him; Jeff could tell he didn't understand. Or didn't want to, maybe, was going to force him to say it outright. 'What?' he asked.

'End it. Cut his throat. Smother him.'

'You can't be serious.'

'If he were a dog, wouldn't you-'

'But he's not a dog.'

Jeff threw up his hands in frustration. Why had this become so difficult? He was just trying to be practical. Humane. 'You know what I mean,' he said.

He wasn't going to continue with this. He'd offered his idea; what more could he do? He felt that weight again, that leaden quality. The sun was climbing higher. They ought to be in the tent, in the shade; it was foolish for them to be out in the open like this, sweating. But he made no attempt to move. He was pouting, he realized, punishing Mathias for not embracing his plan. He disliked himself for this, and disliked Mathias for witnessing it; he wished he could stop. But he couldn't.

'Have you spoken to the others?' Mathias asked.

Jeff shook his head.

Mathias brushed some of the green fuzz off his jeans, then wiped his hands in the dirt, thinking it all through. Finally, he stood up. 'We should vote,' he said. 'If the others say yes, then I will, too.'

And with that, he started back up the hill toward the tent.

They gathered, once again, in the clearing.

First Mathias reappeared, and then, a few moments later, Jeff. They sat on the ground beside Eric and Stacy, forming a little half circle around the lean-to. Pablo lay there with his eyes shut, and-even as they spoke of his situation-no one seemed willing to look at him. They were avoiding using his name, too; rather than speaking it, they'd say 'he,' and throw a vague wave toward his broken body. Amy was still down at the base of the hill, watching for the other Greeks, but even after they started talking, when it became clear that there was a purpose to this conversation, that something important-something dreadful-was in the process of being decided, no one mentioned her absence. Stacy thought of her, wondered if she ought to be fetched-Stacy wanted this to happen, to have Amy beside her, holding her hand, the two of them thinking their way through this together-but she couldn't bring herself to speak. She wasn't good in situations like this. Fear made her passive, silent. She tended to cower and wait for bad things to pass her by.

But they wanted her opinion. Wanted both hers and Eric's. If they said yes, then it would happen: Jeff would cut off Pablo's legs. Which was horrible and unimaginable, but also, according to Jeff, the only hope. So, by this logic, if they said no, there'd be no hope. Pablo would die. This was what Jeff told them.

No hope-there was a precursor to these words, a first hope that had to be relinquished in order for the second, also, to be risked. They weren't going to be rescued today: that was what Jeff was telling them. And this was what Stacy found herself focusing on, even though she knew she should've been thinking about Pablo-they were going to have to spend another night here in the orange tent, surrounded by the vine, which could move, which could burrow into Eric's leg, and which-if she were to believe Jeff-wanted them all dead. She didn't see how she could do this.

'How do you know?' she said. She could feel the fear in her voice, and it had a redoubling effect: hearing it frightened her all the more.

'Know what?' Jeff asked.

'That they aren't coming.'

'I didn't say that.'

'You said-'

'That it didn't seem likely they'll be coming today. '

'But-'

'And if they don't come today, and we don't act, he'-and here there was that vague wave toward the lean- to-'won't make it.'

'But how do you know?'

'His bones are exposed. He's going to-'

'No-that they aren't coming.'

'It's not about knowing; it's about not knowing. About the risk of waiting rather than acting.'

'So they might come.'

Jeff gave her an exasperated look, throwing up his hands. 'And they might not come. That's the whole point.'

They were circling, of course, not saying anything, really, just throwing words at each other; even Stacy could see this. He wasn't going to give her what she wanted-couldn't give it to her, in fact. She wanted the Greeks to come, wanted them to be here already, wanted to be rescued, safe, and all Jeff could say was that it might not happen, not today at least, and that if it didn't, they had to cut off Pablo's legs.

He wanted to do it; Stacy could see this. And Mathias didn't. But Mathias wasn't speaking. He was just listening, as usual, waiting for them to decide. Stacy wished he'd say something, that he'd struggle to convince her and Eric not to agree, because she didn't want Jeff to cut off Pablo's legs, couldn't believe that it was a good idea, but she didn't know how to argue this. She sensed she couldn't just say no, that she'd have to tell Jeff why. She needed someone to help her, and there was no one to do it. Eric had become slightly drunk, was sleepy-eyed with it; he was much calmer than he had been, it was true, but not entirely present anymore. And Amy was far away, down the hill, watching for the Greeks.

'What about Amy?' Stacy said.

'What about her?'

'Shouldn't we ask what she thinks?'

'She only matters if it's a tie.'

'If what's a tie?'

'The vote.'

'We're voting?'

Jeff nodded, made an of course gesture with his hand, full of impatience, as if this were the only logical course and he couldn't see why she was expressing such surprise.

But she was surprised. She thought they were just talking about it, searching for a consensus, that nothing would be done unless they all agreed. That wasn't how it was, though; it would only take three of them, and then Jeff would cut off Pablo's legs. Stacy struggled to put her reluctance into words, fumbling, searching for an entry. 'But…I mean, we can't just…It doesn't seem-'

'Cut them off,' Eric said, his voice loud, startling her. 'Right now.'

Stacy turned to look at him. He looked sober suddenly, clear-eyed. And vehement, too, certain of himself, of the course he was advocating. Stacy could still say no, she knew. She could say no and then Jeff would have to go down the hill and ask Amy what she thought. He'd convince her, probably; even if Amy tried to hold out, he'd eventually wear her down. He was stronger than the rest of them. Everyone else was tired and thirsty and longing to be in some other place, and somehow he didn't seem to be any of those things. So what was the point of arguing?

'You're sure it's the right thing?' she asked.