River of Dust A Novel

Five

T he candle flickered as the Reverend turned in his bed and let out a soft moan. Ahcho was at his side a moment later and adjusted the pillow so it cupped his head properly in the manner that Americans preferred.

The Reverend's eyelids fluttered several times and then opened. A grimace of pain crossed his face. Ahcho held up a newly opened bottle of brandy, its amber liquid glowing. The Revered nodded once, and Ahcho poured a small amount into a glass. He raised it to his master's dry lips, and the Reverend drank. Then the Reverend lifted a finger toward the bottle again. Ahcho was surprised but held it steady as the Reverend took several more long pulls.

His pain must have been considerable, Ahcho thought, to tempt the man so. Not that Ahcho blamed him, but he knew he wouldn't mention this to anyone. Nor would he mention the events of the evening and the sinful setting into which the Reverend had stumbled. He cursed himself already for having told Mai Lin where he had found him. But Ahcho had been in such a panic when he had returned to the cottage with the bleeding man that the tale had flown out of him like a bird flushed from the bushes by a cat.

The Reverend's eyes closed again. Ahcho pushed the cork into the bottle of liquor and placed it upon the shelf with the other supplies. They would need more cotton strips to create a proper sling. And more bandages to keep the wound clean. Perhaps he would purchase another bottle of strong spirits to help with the pain, should it continue. On his way back to the Reverend's bedside, Ahcho paused before his own satchel that he had hung on a hook by the door. With a heavy heart, he reached into the bag and pulled out something wrapped in a cloth. He carried it back to the Reverend.

"Sir?" he whispered.

The Reverend's eye twitched, and his lips pursed ever so slightly.

"The robbers seem to have tossed something onto the ground before leaving," Ahcho said.

The Reverend opened one eye. "Spectacles, please."

Ahcho set down the item, found the glasses, placed them on the Reverend's nose, and carefully bent the soft metal wires around his ears. He dreaded the moment the object came into focus.

"What is it?" the Reverend asked.

Ahcho peeled back the corners of the cloth. "A human skull, sir. It appears to be that of a child."

The Reverend flinched at the word but then asked, "You say you found it on the ground?"

"At the base of the cottage steps where the boy— God protect him— was taken."

The Reverend took the small round thing into his hands and held it up before his eyes, where it glistened in the lamplight. Ahcho could not help but notice that it appeared delicate and refined, like a porce lain vase, although also quietly menacing, like a snake curled upon a sun-drenched rock.

The Reverend's face darkened, and his features shifted. They became tight and firm, all softness draining away. His eyes betrayed little, but Ahcho could sense a realization coming over him like a fog rolling over a mountainside in the morning. It was the same realization that Ahcho had arrived at some hours earlier.

"Dear God," the Reverend said. Then he looked into Ahcho's face and asked in a halting voice, "What have I done?"

Ahcho started to reach for his master's arm to comfort him but stopped with his hand in midair. He swallowed and waited for words to come forth, but none did. The two men looked at one another and understood something of which they could not speak.

Ahcho wondered if he should have simply tossed the skull into the desert grasses and not shown it to the Reverend. But with some consternation, he realized that he still had enough of the old superstitions in him to believe that ignoring it could bring the Fates down upon them all. Ahcho feared he was a weak man and an imperfect Christian, and this was the best he could do.

And yet he also reminded himself about the many Sunday mornings when the Reverend had spoken of Jesus's honesty and forthrightness. In order to obey the Reverend's entreaties to be like the Lord, Ahcho had had no choice but to show his master the skull. He could not hide so important a clue. For while the sight of it might ruin the Reverend, it might also help bring his son back to him.

Ahcho felt relief as he transferred the object from his old and weary hands into those of the Reverend, who was far wiser and bound to know what to do.

"Place it in here," the Reverend said. He pointed to the pouch with the twin golden dragons that the unfortunate madam had given the Reverend earlier that evening.

"You do not intend to wear that filthy peasant thing strapped over you?" Ahcho asked.

"I will carry it with me until dear Wesley is found. It shall be my hair shirt."

Ahcho would have liked to have asked what this shirt of hair was all about, but another wave of pain washed over the Reverend, and he shut his eyes.