Chapter 12

           Avisitingdoctorcoveredwithgraycobwebsonhisyellowskullisaddressingtheresidentboysinthestaffroom.

           Icomesweepingpasthim."Oh,andwhat’sthishere."HegivesmealooklikeI’msomekindofbug.Oneoftheresidentspointsathisears,signalthatI’mdeaf,andthevisitingdoctorgoeson.

           IpushmybroomupfacetofacewithabigpicturePublicRelationbroughtinonetimewhenitwasfoggedsothickIdidn’tseehim.Thepictureisaguyfly-fishingsomewhereinthemountains,looksliketheOchocosnearPaineville—snowonthepeaksshowingoverthepines,longwhiteaspentrunksliningthestream,sheepsorrelgrowinginsourgreenpatches.Theguyisflickinghisflyinapoolbehindarock.It’snoplaceforafly,it’saplaceforasingleeggonanumber-sixhook—he’ddobettertodrifttheflyoverthoserifflesdownstream.

           There’sapathrunningdownthroughtheaspen,andIpushmybroomdownthepathawaysandsitdownonarockandlookbackoutthroughtheframeatthatvisitingdoctortalkingwiththeresidents.Icanseehimstabbingsomepointinthepalmofhishandwithhisfinger,butIcan’thearwhathesaysbecauseofthecrashofthecold,frothystreamcomingdownoutoftherocks.Icansmellthesnowinthewindwhereitblowsdownoffthepeaks.Icanseemoleburrowshumpingalongunderthegrassandbuffaloweed.It’sarealniceplacetostretchyourlegsandtakeiteasy.

           Youforget—ifyoudon’tsitdownandmaketheefforttothinkback—forgethowitwasattheoldhospital