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“If this is to drink or to wash . . .”
The Covenant Man looked at him with his head cocked to one side, waiting for him to finish, but Tim couldn’t. He just put the basin down beside
the Covenant Man, who seemed to have done with his pointless hole.
“Not to drink, not to wash, although we could do either, if we wanted to.”
“You’re joking, sai! It’s foul!”
“The world is foul, young Tim, but we build up a resistance, don’t we? We breathe its air, eat its food, do its doings. Yes. Yes, we do. Never mind.
Hunker.”
The Covenant Man pointed to a spot, then rummaged in his gunna. Tim watched the bugs eating each other, revolted but fascinated. Would they
go on until only one—the strongest—was left?
“Ah, here we are!” His host produced a steel rod with a white tip that looked like ivory, and squatted so the two of them faced each other above
the lively brew in the basin.
Tim stared at the steel rod in the gloved hand. “Is that a magic wand?”
The Covenant Man appeared to consider. “I suppose so. Although it started life as the gearshift of a Dodge Dart. America’s economy car, young
Tim.”
“What’s America?”
“A kingdom filled with toy-loving idiots. It has no part in our palaver. But know this, and tell your children, should you ever be so unfortunate as to
have any: in the proper hand, any object can be magic. Now watch!”
The Covenant Man threw back his cloak to fully free his arm, and passed the wand over the basin of murky, infested water. Before Tim’s wide
eyes, the bugs fell still . . . floated on the surface . . . disappeared. The Covenant Man made a second pass and the murk disappeared, as well. The
water did indeed now look drinkable. In it, Tim found himself staring down at his own amazed face.
“Gods! How did—”
“Hush, stupid boy! Disturb the water even the slightest bit and thee’ll see nothing!”
The Covenant Man passed his makeshift wand over the basin yet a third time, and Tim’s reflection disappeared just as the bugs and the murk
had. What replaced it was a shivery vision of Tim’s own cottage. He saw his mother, and he saw Bern Kells. Kells was walking unsteadily into the
kitchen from the back hall where he kept his trunk. Nell was standing between the stove and the table, wearing the nightgown she’d had on when
Tim last saw her. Kells’s eyes were red-rimmed and bulging in their sockets. His hair was plastered to his forehead. Tim knew that, if he had been
in that room instead of only watching it, he would have smelled redeye jackaroe around the man like a fog. His mouth moved, and Tim could read
the words as they came from his lips: How did you open my trunk?
No! Tim wanted to cry. Not her, me! But his throat was locked shut.
“Like it?” the Covenant Man whispered. “Enjoying the show, are you?”
Nell first shrank back against the pantry door, then turned to run. Kells seized her before she could, one hand gripping her shoulder, the other
wrapped in her hair. He shook her back and forth like a Rag Sally, then threw her against the wall. He swayed back and forth in front of her, as if
about to collapse. But he didn’t fall, and when Nell once more tried to run, he seized the heavy ceramic jug that stood by the sink—the same waterjug
Tim had poured from earlier to ease her hurt—and brought it crashing into the center of her forehead. It shattered, leaving him holding nothing
but the handle. Kells dropped it, grabbed his new wife, and began to rain blows upon her.
“NO!” Tim screamed.
His breath ruffled the water and the vision was gone.
Tim sprang to his feet and lunged toward Bitsy, who was looking at him in surprise. In his mind, the son of Jack Ross was already riding back
down the Ironwood Trail, urging Bitsy with his heels until she was running full-out. In reality, the Covenant Man seized him before he could manage
three steps, and hauled him back to the campfire.
“Ta-ta, na-na, young Tim, be not so speedy! Our palaver’s well begun but far from done.”
“Let me loose! She’s dying, if he ain’t killed her already! Unless . . . was it a glam? Your little joke?” If so, Tim thought, it was the meanest joke
ever played on a boy who loved his mother. Yet he hoped it was. He hoped the Covenant Man would laugh and say I really pulled your snout that
time, didn’t I, young Tim?
The Covenant Man was shaking his head. “No joke and no glammer, for the basin never lies. It’s already happened, I fear. Terrible what a man in
drink may do to a woman, isn’t it? Yet look again. This time thee may find some comfort.”
Tim fell on his knees in front of the basin. The Covenant Man flicked his steel stick over the water. A vague mist seemed to pass above it . . . or
perhaps it was only a trick of Tim’s eyes, which were filled with tears. Whichever it was, the obscurity faded. Now in the shallow pool he saw the
porch of their cottage, and a woman who seemed to have no face bending over Nell. Slowly, slowly, with the newcomer’s help, Nell was able to get
to her feet. The woman with no face turned her toward the front door, and Nell began taking shuffling, painful steps in that direction.
“She’s alive!” Tim shouted. “My mama’s alive!”
“So she is, young Tim. Bloody but unbowed. Well . . . a bit bowed, p’raps.” He chuckled.
This time Tim had shouted across the basin rather than into it, and the vision remained. He realized that the woman helping his mother appeared
to have no face because she was wearing a veil, and the little burro he could see at the very edge of the wavering picture was Sunshine. He had
fed, watered, and walked Sunshine many times. So had the other pupils at the little Tree school; it was part of what the headmistress called their
“tuition,” but Tim had never seen her actually ride him. If asked, he would have said she was probably unable. Because of her shakes.
“That’s the Widow Smack! What’s she doing at our house?”
“Perhaps you’ll ask her, young Tim.”
“Did you send her, somehow?”
Smiling, the Covenant Man shook his head. “I have many hobbies, but rescuing damsels in distress isn’t one of them.” He bent close to the basin,
the brim of his hat shading his face. “Oh, dearie me. I believe she’s still in distress. Which is no surprise; it was a terrible beating she took. People
say the truth can be read in a person’s eyes, but look at the hands, I always say. Look at your mama’s, young Tim!”
Tim bent close to the water. Supported by the Widow, Nell crossed the porch with her spread hands held out before her, and she was walking
toward the wall instead of the door, although the porch was not wide and the door right in front of her. The Widow gently corrected her course, and
the two women went inside together.
The Covenant Man used his tongue to make a tch-tch sound against the roof of his mouth. “Doesn’t look good, young Tim. Blows to the head can
be very nasty things. Even when they don’t kill, they can do terrible damage. Lasting damage.” His words were grave, but his eyes twinkled with
unspeakable merriment.