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