Tuck snorted, irritable. "Any chance of getting out of here while I still got hair on my head?" He watched Joseph duck under limbs and disappear into the brush at the back side of the cypress hummock. He called after him, "I'll give you ten minutes, then I'm leaving!"
After about five minutes of impatient waiting, though, Tuck decided to follow along and find out just what in hell the fool Indian was doing now. He wasn't easy to follow-the ground was too springy to hold tracks. But after casting back and forth through the trees, moving toward the saw grass while calling Joseph's name, Tuck finally heard: "You don't give up, do you?"
He saw Joseph through the trees, kneeling on a low earthen ridge. Looked like someone had been digging there, the way the dirt was piled up. Joseph was studying something, holding it in his hands, and he didn't reply when Tuck said, "You find some more money? Hell, you're bad as a squirrel."
Tuck drew closer. Saw that Joseph was holding what appeared to be a length of bone, using his shirt to polish the dirt off it. Tuck said, "If you buried you a side of beef, too, that was bad planning. What the hell is that?"
Joseph turned toward him briefly. "Just what I thought it was." As if that explained everything.
"Ah."
"They didn't know what they was looking for, just started digging. See there… and there? More holes. Thinking they might be Indian graves and they'd find some beads, maybe. Or some pots. Stuff like that, so they could take it home, put it on their shelves."
"Dead Injuns, huh? Them beads worth anything?" Tuck was momentarily interested.
Joseph shrugged. "Doesn't matter, 'cause the only thing in this hole was my grandfather."
"You buried him?"
"How else you think he got here? Shoulda known back then it wasn't safe, somebody'd come looking with shovels."
Tuck took the bone, considering it. "Looks skinny enough to be the old fool. Hum. Damn if he ain't scattered all over the place. Probably good for him, up here getting some air." Joseph was assembling the bones in a pile. "You want to push him back in and cover him up?" "What I ought to do is bury him someplace else. Here, they'd just find him again. Maybe I'll come back with a sack."
Tucker liked the sound of that. "Come back later, you mean. Another day."
Joseph was placing the bone shards in the hole, covering them with sand. "No offense, but it's something I'd like to do in private. So, yeah. Come back another day." Joseph stood, dusting his hands off. "Besides, he ain't in no hurry now." Relieved, Tuck added, "Well, we are."
FIFTEEN
Just when Ford was beginning to feel claustrophobic-his stilt house was simply too small for two people-Sally Carmel told him she had to get back to Mango for a few days, check on her cat, the phone messages, and mail.
Ford had said, "I'll try to stay busy with work," hoping he didn't show the private undercurrent of relief he felt.
Then she said, "Well, maybe we both need a little time away from each other to see how we… feel about all this." Letting him know that she was a little relieved, too.
Not that Ford was worried about that. People always built a little distance into good-byes when they knew they weren't going to be apart long.
She said, "I'll call you from home."
That was Saturday afternoon, but by Sunday evening, he still hadn't heard from her.
He had both hundred-gallon tanks nearly finished for his demonstration on the effects of filtering species on turbid water, and that's what he worked on all afternoon and right into dusk. The only interruption was when his friend from Tampa delivered an envelope-size package: the test results from water samples Ford had taken from Tucker Gatrell's artesian well.
Ford scanned the results quickly, then sat down and read them again. When he was finished, he folded them, shaking his head. "Jesus Christ," he whispered. "That poor old fool."
Then he got back to work.
Everytime he passed by the phone, though, he couldn't help looking at it. Even when he tried to ignore it, his eyes drifted to the damn thing and wouldn't let go. Maybe half a dozen times, he picked the phone up to make sure it was still working.
He thought, This is silly. I'll call her. But then he reminded himself, She has a right to her privacy, her time alone. Hell, I was glad to see her go! She'll call when she wants.
After a late supper, he filled both tanks with murky bay water, placed a single biofouling assembly in only one of them-the ropes were loaded with sea squirts and tunicates by now-and set the timer. If the filtering animals cleared the water, how long would it take? He decided he would check the tanks every three hours; sleep off and on through the night. So he searched around for something else to do while he waited.
The house didn't need cleaning again, and Tomlinson wasn't back from Boston yet, so he decided to read. Listen to some nice Gregorian chants on the stereo and kick back with John D. Mac-Donald. But he found himself staring at the wall instead of the book he held, so he finally picked up the phone and dialed.
Sally Carmel said, "I was just about to call you," when she answered. "I tried a couple of times yesterday, but you weren't there."
Ford said, "I was out late on the trawl boat, getting specimens. Don't worry about it."
"Me, too-I've been busy. Running around like crazy trying to get caught up, get these slides mounted and mailed, but every time I got some momentum, somebody knocked on the door."
Ford said, "What?"
"Asking for directions, or where there was a restaurant. Once if they could use my toilet. All day long, it's been like that."
"In Mango?"
"Of course, that's what I'm saying. The people down here," she said. "You wouldn't believe the people. Cars driving up and down the road, all the traffic. A family had a picnic on my lawn! I walked right into a circus; that's just what it's like. All because of your uncle, the publicity he's getting."
Ford said, "Tourists looking for the Fountain of Youth." He was thinking about the test results.
"When they're not looking for a toilet or for food, yeah." She said, "Wait a minute-you'd get a kick out of this… There are three campers. I can see them through the window right now. Those Winnebago kind of vans, parked out on the road. And there are more down toward your uncle's place. Hey"-her phone clacked against something, a window seal, maybe-"he's got a bonfire built down by his house, your uncle does. And I can hear fiddle music, like they're having a party. Can you hear it?"
Ford listened, then he said, "No," thinking that maybe he wouldn't call Tuck and tell him about the test results. Not tonight. Why spoil the party?
Sally said, "It sounds familiar, the tune. The 'Orange Blossom Special'? Bluegrass kind of music. Doc, you've got to come down and see this for yourself."
He wondered whether that was an invitation. But before he could feel her out, she said, "Look, Doc, something's come up. It's no big deal, but there was a letter waiting for me here, and maybe we should talk about a couple of things."
"Letter?"
"But I hate to tell you over the phone."
"I'd drive down, but I just started this procedure."
"Not even for an hour or so? I'd like you to be here when I tell you about it." Putting a little pressure on him. It was his turn to go to her place, no question about that.
He thought about the sea mobile in its tank of murky water, the care he'd taken in recording the weight of the assembly, everything noted and dated, times set. He'd have to go through the whole process over again.
"Maybe you could tell me a little bit about it now, then we can talk more later."
She said, "Okay, if that's the way it has to be."
"It's one of those procedures where I have to stay close, make notes, that sort of thing." Ford thought, Why am I feeling guilty? This is my work; she should understand that.