5. One October Day

Wake up. The warm mud spoke to him. It tingled. He could feel motion. The earth was thirsty, excited. Fall was coming.

Nqong rose from his pool of goo and stood on a rock. The spot was gently lit by the morning sun, which came in sideways through the trees. The forest air was cool and dry, heavy with the leftover scent of a long, dry summer. He felt the mud harden on his skin and suck at his pores. He faced the sun and curled his toes into the thick bed of gray dust that covered the rock.

He lay on his back on the rock, staring up between the trees into the early morning blue. A hawk circled high in the sky, crying, crying. Nqong closed his eyes and waited. When he felt the mud completely dry, he slowly moved his body. He stretched in all the thirty-six ways, seven times. The mud cracked away from him and crumbled under his body.

Before he had finished his stretches, the spot of sunlight had moved from the rock, and there was a chill in the air. Fall was coming fast. Nqong stood, brushed the last crusts of dry mud from his body, wrapped his yellow garment about him, and walked through the forest to the water house. Fall. Time to prepare the jars.

He lit the lamps and shed his canvas wrap. It was warm in the water house. He took a deep breath through his nose, feeling the sulfur fumes massage his nares, his sinuses, his throat, his lungs. He walked to the back of the water house and into the cave, feeling the pipes. Fine. He returned to the waterworks. He checked the glass tubes for their level and their color. He counted the jars on the shelves. He cupped his hands over the vats and washed his face with each of the waters. He licked his lips. He opened the taps one by one and drank a sip from each. He checked the temperature of the main spring. The rate of flow. The taste. He grinned. Here comes fall, he thought.

Nqong loved fall.

He adjusted the valves until he had them just right. Then he put on his garment, blew out the lamps, and left the water house. It was time to go to town.

———

“Does the water feel warm to you this morning?” Diana asked Casey. “Warmer than usual?”

They were alone in the bathhouse, sitting side by side in the first bath, looking out toward the east, where the sun had just risen above the tall pine trees.

“I don’t understand it,” Casey said. “The sun’s rising later, the day’s chillier than usual, and yet the water’s warmer. Doesn’t make sense.”

“It has to make some kind of sense,” Diana said.

“But you’d think….”

“Don’t think.” Diana shifted in the water and lay back to float, belly up. Her body drifted, her long blonde hair like a cloud around her head and shoulders. As she floated over Casey’s legs, he stopped her gently and supported her, one hand below a thigh, one below the small of her back. Looking down at her smiling face, her breasts, her belly, the faint line of hair that traced from her navel to her thick thatch, he felt himself grow warm, felt his penis, which was already pointing in the right direction, reach up to tickle Diana’s butt.

She opened one eye. “Don’t get fresh,” she said.

“Sorry.”

“Unless of course you mean it.”

He smiled down at her and gave her body a gentle shove, and she floated away, feet first, her hair giving his body one more wispy thrill as it passed by. He told his penis to behave, and after a while it did.

Mornings were a relatively new experience for Casey. He had always known about mornings. The world is waiting for the sunrise, the bright golden haze on the meadow, and all that. But it had been a long time since he had witnessed an actual morning until he moved to Hope Springs. But now that he had been there for a couple of weeks and was settling into a routine that had a lot to do with daylight, he found the mornings beautiful.

He and Diana would meet in the bathhouse for the first bath of the day, soaking quietly for half an hour in the rich water the same temperature as their own blood.

Sweet, sweet Diana. Why couldn’t Casey just relax and fall in love with her? But he couldn’t. For a romantic lounge singer who believed all the lyrics to the love songs he sang, he was a failure at meaningful love, and his brief flings usually ended up hurting someone. Casey did not want to hurt Diana. He dared not. Karen had made that emphatically clear. And so he and Diana, whom he liked so terribly much, had managed to cool down to the status of good friends, which left them both feeling not quite thrilled.

Nevertheless, this was a good life, and the day was off to a good start. The morning was quiet and cool. Diana held his hand. The water was perfect. From his perch on the top of the hotel, Clyde the peacock crowed to greet the morning sun. That was usually the loudest event of the day, and Casey was used to it.

Then something with a busted muffler roared into their morning and rattled to a halt on the gravel driveway that separated the bathhouse from the hotel. Casey and Diana, rising quickly from their bath, heard a truck door slam. As they were reaching for their robes, they heard a double blast of gunshot, which bounced against the canyon wall and echoed, echoed, echoed.

“Jesus Christ!” Casey gasped. “What was that?”

“Renner, probably,” Diana said.

“Probably?”

“That’s his name. Nick Renner. He’s a big pain in the ass. I’m going to go get Karen.”

They put on their robes and left the bathhouse together. Out on the driveway, a tall, wiry man was leaning into the back of a pickup truck, securing a shotgun onto a rack with two other firearms.

“Hey,” Casey said. Diana passed behind the truck and went on into the hotel.

“Who the fuck are you?” the man told him.

“My name’s Casey. I live here.”

“Renner. I hunt here.” He wore boots, baggy jeans, and an oil-stained red tee shirt. His hair was long, black, and greasy. He was half a foot taller than Casey, and Casey was a tall man.

“I don’t think so,” Casey told Renner. “I don’t think that’s a good idea at all.”

Renner said, “You don’t think so? This is dove season, haven’t you heard?”

“Haven’t you heard,” Casey answered, “that this is private property?”

“You own it?

“No.”

“Me neither. We’re even. You live here, I hunt here.”

“What were you doing shooting off a gun right next to our home?” Casey wanted to know. He looked up to the roost on top of the hotel. Clyde was nowhere to be seen.

“Letting you know I’m here,” Renner said. “Didn’t want you to think I was trespassing.”

“How about letting me know you’re not here,” Casey said.

“How about kissing my ass.”

“Renner!” From the steps of the hotel, Karen strode down in jeans and a yellow work shirt, her fists clenched. “I’ve told you never to fire off guns around here. People live here. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Renner lit a cigarette and threw his match on the ground. “Tell this fag in a bathrobe I get to hunt here.”

“That’s over, Renner,” Karen told him. “No more hunting. No more senseless slaughter. Find someplace else.”

“I don’t see no ‘Posted’ signs,” Renner said. “I been hunting this property since I was a kid. So I recommend you and your hippie friends wear red if you’re going to be out in the woods in dove season. Or deer season. And far as I’m concerned, it’s always open season on coyote, wild pigs, and condors. And peacocks.”

Renner flicked his cigarette, still lit, onto the lawn, climbed into his truck, and started the engine, which blared like doomsday. Then he shut it off and climbed out of the cab. “I gotta take a dump,” he said. “Can I use your bathroom, or would you rather I use your bushes?”

“Go ahead,” Karen said. “In the hotel. Then you’re out of here.”

Nick Renner turn his back on Casey and Karen and clomped up the steps to the front door of the hotel. As they watched him go in, Karen took Casey’s hand and squeezed. “It’ll be okay,” she said. “I’ll call the sheriff if I need to, but I think he’ll behave.”

———

“I swear to god I’m going to kill that peacock,” Nellie said. “He wakes me up every morning at the crack of dawn. Every morning of the world.”

“That’s his job,” Karen said, glaring at Nellie across the circle. “That peacock is my friend,” she added, “so don’t consider killing him if you value your own life. Which reminds me, your boyfriend’s back. He said he was hunting; I suppose he was hunting for you.”

“What are you talking about? God these meetings are early. Diana, honey, is there any more coffee?”

“Don’t treat Diana like a servant, Nellie,” Karen scolded. “You can make your own coffee for God’s sake.”

“It’s okay,” Diana said, getting up. “It’s made. Anybody else?”

Casey, Nellie, and Nels raised their hands. Diana left the library and walked back to the kitchen. Morning meetings were different now, that was for sure. They used to be held in the carriage house, starting at eight, and the whole community would meditate silently for half an hour before saying a word. Then there would be emotional clearing for as long as it took, then sharing of appreciations, and then business, if there was any business.

Now it was all business. They met in the library now, because Nellie lived in the carriage house, and they met at nine, because that was as early as Nellie would agree to get up. As for meditating, clearing, and sharing, Casey wasn’t into it. He said all that touchy-feely was probably wonderful stuff, and he recommended that it be done on a volunteer basis from eight to nine every morning, but once nine o’clock came business should be business, because there was a lot of work ahead to get the hotel and the bathhouse ready for winter. The community agreed to that, and within one week attendance at the early morning mediation diminished to Karen and two or three others, and even they had skipped the last couple of mornings.

Diana poured coffee into three mugs and put them on a tray. Nellie liked milk and sugar. Casey black. Nels milk. She returned to the library, served the coffee, and joined the community seated in a large circle on the oriental carpet.

Nellie and Karen were still facing off across the circle. “Nick Renner was never my boyfriend,” Nellie insisted. “Does he know I’m here?”

“You slept with him,” Karen said. “Maybe he’s not your boyfriend, but you screwed him and told him he could hunt on our property.”

“That was fifteen years ago. Besides,” Nellie said, smiling, “he asked politely.”

“For which privilege?”

“Ladies!” Casey clapped his hands. “We have to get to work here.”

Karen shook her head. “You know, Casey, it’s important to have emotional clearing at least. That really is important. You can’t have an effective business meeting if people are holding grudges.”

“That may be,” Casey said. “But we don’t have time to resolve fifty years of sibling rivalry. It’s already October, the days are getting shorter, the nights are getting cooler, and we have a hotel to winterize. Let’s talk about firewood. Unless anybody has any other announcements?”

That’s what Diana liked best about the new order of things: Casey’s control. Casey’s kind control. Casey.

“Announcements?”

Baxter stood up and honked his horn. His eyes wide, he pointed out the window looking west. The others followed his gaze. A tall dark man with long white hair and a thicket of white beard was striding across the far end of the meadow with a staff in one hand and a pack on his back.

“Oh Jesus,” Casey moaned. “Is that another Renner? Should I call the sheriff?”

“No,” Karen said softly. “That’s not another Renner.”

“That’s your boyfriend,” Nellie said. “Right, Karen?”

“No.”

“He’s our teacher,” Diana said. “He comes through occasionally.”

“How long does he stay?” Casey asked.

“Never any longer than this,” Diana answered, fondly watching Nqong disappear into the woods on the other side of the meadow. “It’s always so good to see him.”

———

The firewood arrived at ten. Casey was on the phone in the lobby, trying to get a better price on linen service out of Anacapa. Seeing the truck outside on the driveway, he held his hand over the receiver and asked Arthur, who was waiting around for something to do, to go out and give the driver instructions. “It goes on the verandah, east side. Get him to stack it nicely.”

Arthur went outside and Casey got back to business with Mission Linen, which was playing hardball. After five minutes of negotiating, Mission agreed to make two deliveries a week if Casey signed up for towels. Casey heard the sound of firewood tumbling off the back of a truck. Four cords of dry oak. Then he heard the truck rev up and lumber away. He signed up for towels, just to get off the phone, and hung up. He rushed to the door and looked out on the mountain of wood in the driveway.

Arthur stood with no expression on his face. Casey walked down the steps calmly and said, “They’re coming back, I hope?”

“Nope.”

“They’re supposed to stack this wood. That was in the contract.”

“There was only the one guy,” Arthur said. “He wasn’t into it.”

“Looks like you’ll have to do it, then,” Casey said.

“Tell the truth, Casey, I’m not into it either.” Arthur could be a sourpuss. He was the staff mechanic, and he related well to Honda generators and propane refrigerators and the company truck, but he didn’t handle simple matters well, and he wasn’t all that great with people. “The way I figure it, this is about a twelve, fourteen-hour job. And I’ve already got plenty to do as it is.”

“So,” Casey said. “What? We’re supposed to leave this pile of wood all over the driveway? And if somebody wants to use the driveway for driving? Like somebody wants to go to town, maybe they want to buy a quart of milk or have an appendix removed, and they’re parked behind the hotel and they can’t get out because you’re not into it?”

Arthur shrugged again. “I guess I could clear enough space for somebody to drive past if they wanted a quart of milk. Then maybe if I spent like an hour a day, I could get it stacked on the verandah in a couple of weeks.”

“What if it rains?” Casey asked.

“Wood gets wet.”

“Is it likely to rain?”

“Radio says tomorrow, for sure.”

“So?”

“I guess we’re screwed.”

“You got any more bad news you want to get out of your system?” Casey wanted to know.

Arthur scratched his head and said, “Well, there is one thing. The main reason the delivery guy wasn’t into it.”

“What’s that?”

“Let’s go have a look at the east side of the verandah,” Arthur said.

They walked up the steps and around to the side of the hotel, where space all along the building had been cleared to make room for the wood. The cement floor of the verandah was painted dark red, which nicely set off the handsome pattern of the lazy fat four-foot rattler sunning itself in the late-morning heat.

Casey said, “Do you know how to deal with this?”

Arthur said, “It’s pretty dangerous.”

“Then I’ll do it. I’m going to go get a shovel.”

“Dangerous,” Arthur repeated. “The snake’s not dangerous, but Karen will have your ass. She doesn’t allow killing.”

For once Arthur probably wasn’t exaggerating. Casey went to the front of the verandah and picked up an iron rod. He rang the triangle for thirty seconds, the triangle that had only three purposes: dinner, fire, and an emergency meeting.

———

Karen counted the staff assembled in the library. All ten of them had showed up, plus the manager and two owners. You could always count on people to drop work for a meeting. Getting them to shut up and have the meeting once they got together was sometimes a problem, but Casey obviously knew how to handle a crowd.

“Okay,” Casey said. “I want to keep this brief, but I want to start off with a little emotional sharing. How do we all feel about rattlesnakes?”

Some of the staff admitted that they hated snakes, and Nellie said they should be killed on sight. But Karen pointed out that the snakes seldom came near the hotel and they had as much right to Hope Springs as anyone else, including Nellie Hope.

“Including Nick Renner?” Nellie asked.

“Oh be quiet,” Karen snapped. “If we can’t get along with our natural neighbors, then there’s no point in country living,” she said.

“I agree,” Diana said. “I’m sorry, Casey, but we can’t just decide a snake is an enemy, and then kill it. That doesn’t make sense. It’s just fear.”

Casey sighed. “How many feel this way about rattlesnakes?”

Most of the yellows raised their hands. Then the rest of them came around. What a wonderful bunch of people, Karen thought. Kind. Nellie kept her hands in her lap, but what could you expect.

“Okay, then,” Casey said. “We don’t kill rattlesnakes. When it comes to mice, rats, flies, or termites, we’ll probably have to have another meeting, but for now, we don’t kill rattlesnakes. So what are we going to do with the unwanted guest on the verandah?”

“Ye gods!” Nellie cried. “You mean there’s a snake in the hotel?”

“Not in the hotel. On the verandah.”

“Kill it,” Nellie said. “Quick, before it gets away!”

My sister the drama queen, Karen thought. “Nellie, where were you a minute ago? We reached a consensus….”

“Yes, yes, that’s all very nice,” Nellie spat back. “But that was theoretical. This snake is real. And poisonous. And I’m not putting up with it.”

The moment of tense silence was shattered by a shriek from the east side of the hotel. Karen rose to her feet and ran through the lobby to the front door. Casey and Diana and Nellie and Arthur joined her on the verandah, and together they rounded the corner to the east side, where the shrieking was repeating, louder and louder.

Clyde the peacock was pecking at the snake, which was now coiled and striking, its tail buzzing loudly. Each time the snake would strike, Clyde would leap back and screech, then fly forward again for a strike of his own. After several lunges, Clyde caught the rattler behind its broad head and dragged it a couple of feet away from the wall before dropping it and jumping back. The snake recoiled. Clyde screeched. The snake struck again at the bird, and the bird once again caught it on the back and dragged it further toward the edge of the verandah. Clyde hopped up onto the verandah railing and screeched again. The snake uncoiled and slithered off the edge of the verandah, dropped three feet into the dust, and took off along the side of the verandah toward the back of the hotel.

Clyde was down on the ground beside it, pecking at its scales, until it built up speed, left the side of the hotel, and took off across the parking lot behind the hotel and disappeared into the woods. Clyde flew to the top of the company truck and screeched.

The entire staff, now gathered on the east side of the verandah, cheered.

Nellie said, “I guess I won’t kill that peacock after all. Only one around here with any sense.”

Casey said, “Great. Now that we’re all gathered together, I’d like everybody to grab a few logs from the driveway and stack them neatly right here. Arthur estimates it’s a twelve to fourteen-hour job, which means maybe ten hours in real time, and there are thirteen of us here, so we’ll finished in no time.”

Karen watched her community get to work. Casey was singing to his crew: “I can only give you logs that last forever.…” Karen and Nellie smiled at each other, nodded, rolled up their sleeves, and joined them. “And a log whose burning light will warm the winter night….”

———

The secret was to have a system. Control it instead of letting it control you. Casey smoked one joint a day, but he kept it to one, and it was always at the same time and it was perfect.

Karen would hand the new-rolled joint to him each day after lunch, and he would take it immediately down to the smoking bridge and light up. That was the longest he owned dope at Hope Springs, a period of about two minutes, each day. Casey was in complete control of his habit.

The smoking bridge was the only place on the entire property where smoking was allowed, except for Karen’s apartment in the hotel and the carriage house, where Nellie made her own rules. For the rest of the staff, including Casey, it was the smoking bridge only, a wooden footbridge that spanned the gurgling stream. There was a bench to sit on while you smoked, and a rusty milk can for throwing away your butts and roaches.

Routine, that was the secret. Casey came here every day after lunch, had his one joint of the day, then went to the bathhouse for his second bath of the day, then took his nap so he’d be straight and fresh for his second shift.

Today Baxter followed him down to the bridge and sat beside him on the bench. Casey crossed his right leg over his left knee, and Baxter crossed his left knee over his right knee. Casey nodded at Baxter and smiled, and Baxter nodded at Casey and smiled back. Casey winked. Baxter winked. Baxter was wearing bathing trunks and a Hawaiian shirt, just like Casey.

Casey lit his joint and took a long, hot, heavy toke, almost choked, almost coughed, held onto it, doubled over, bobbing his head and squinting his eyes, then recovered and looked at Baxter. Baxter was doubled over, bobbing his head. When Baxter recovered, Casey offered him the joint.

Baxter grinned and shook his head and pointed at his crotch. The unmistakable outline of something long, fat, and hard pressed against the bathing suit, obviously aching to be released. Baxter gave Casey a look that said “Ain’t that somethin’?” and pulled the waistband away from his belly. He reached into his trunks and pulled out a long, fat cigar, which he popped into his mouth.

Casey laughed and gave him his Bic. Baxter lit up, exercised his eyebrows, and scowled.

“You look like Groucho,” Casey told him. “On TV.”

Baxter said, “Say da magic woid ana little boid comes down an you win a hunned dollahs.”

Casey took another hit, held his breath, looked again at Baxter, laughed and lost it. Baxter drew on his stogie, looked at Casey, and cracked up.

Dragonflies floated on the still hot air, the still hot air smelled of dope and tobacco blended with sage and chaparral, insects sang in the sage and chaparral, the creek sang, and Casey hummed along, cruisin’ down the river, cruisin’ on a Sunday afternoon. Clouds were building upon the mountaintops to the east.

“You want to know what my job description is, Baxter?” he said. “My job description is to be interrupted. It’s the kind of thing I’m used to. I mean piano players are always getting interrupted, and here, managing a staff of ten people, interruptions are just part of the game, so get used to it, because just think what it’s going to be like when we have guests, for God’s sake. Know what I mean?”

Baxter nodded sagely. “Say da magic woid ana little boid comes down an you win a hunned dollahs,” he sighed, flicking the ash off his cigar.

Casey took a last hit, offered the roach to Baxter, who shook his head. He tossed the roach into the milk can. “It’s a good life, Baxter. Nice people, hard work, pretty place, Diana makes great food…”

“Say da magic woid ana little boid comes down an you win a hunned dollahs.”

“…three hot baths a day, a piano to play in the evenings, Diana sings along, got a great voice, knows all the tunes. I only wish.…”

Baxter cocked his head and waited, opened-mouthed.

Clyde waddled down the path and joined them on the bridge. He hopped up on the rail and stared at Baxter.

Baxter stared back at Clyde. “Say da magic woid ana little boid comes down an you win a hunned dollahs.”

Clyde screeched.

Baxter screeched back.

———

In the late afternoon, shy Bonnie, the shy peahen, would join Clyde for a promenade and picnic on the lawn in front of the bathhouse. She kept to herself, who knows where, most of the day, but during the cocktail hour they were a couple.

Likewise, on the verandah of the hotel, across the driveway, Nellie and Karen Hope, freshly dressed, met each afternoon and settled onto the glider swing for a drink and a chat. Even on days that had gone all sour for them as sisters, the twins met in truce at cocktail hour.

This afternoon they wore wraps about their shoulders. The sky had clouded over, and the air felt cool and moist. “Fall will be over before you know it,” Nellie said. “The new year’s fast approaching.”

“The old year’s cooling off,” Karen agreed. “Looks like we’ll finally get that rain.”

“Karen, I want to make a contribution around here.” Nellie reached into the pocket of her skirt for a cigarette, then remembered it would do her no good. “I still feel like an outsider. All you people in yellow, you’re all so holy and perfect, and I’m just this city person. This gorgeous city person, I must admit, but anyway. God, look at those scrawny birds. I thought peacocks were supposed to have big beautiful tails.”

“You just wait till spring,” Karen told her. “Clyde’ll knock your socks off.”

Nellie loved her sister, and she loved Hope Springs. She felt, sitting in the peaceful late afternoon, that she had perhaps come home. The bathhouse their father had built was one of the warmest and comfiest pieces of architecture in southern California, and now it was hers to be proud of. She looked forward to sharing it with her friends.

“Wait till my friends from Malibu meet our Baxter,” she said. “Sweet Baxter. Did you know when he was a child he was overweight? He hated himself when he was a little boy.”

“Baxter told you this? He actually spoke to you? I mean spoke out loud, not just body language?”

“Baxter’s extremely shy, you know,” Nellie said. “All that clowning’s just an act. He’s quite sensitive. He and I have a very special relationship.”

“Since when?”

“Since last night,” Nellie admitted.

“Baxter has a very special relationship with every woman he’s ever met,” Karen pointed out. “And Casey,” she added. “Your fancy friends will love him. He’s the best thing to happen to this place in a long time. The community was bumping along okay, but we needed a leader if we wanted to turn this place into anything Joley would approve of.”

“Joley.”

“Well, you know what I mean. I just hope Casey will stick around after he’s met our brother.”

“He’ll stick around,” Nellie said. “As long as you keep supplying him with marijuana.”

“You know the real reason he’s here. He’s in love with Diana. He may not realize it yet, but those two were made for each other. And I’ll tell you something else, when those two sing after dinner, this old castle turns to magic.”

“Like it’s bringing back what our parents had,” Nellie agreed. “Just wait till I start bringing in the guests. Bette wants to come; I told her about Baxter. And maybe Barbra. Cher, Goldie, Sweet Lorraine, all the Malibu royalty.”

They were rising from the glider, empty cocktail glasses in their hands, when the darkening afternoon was torn apart by the sound of Nick Renner’s truck, returning full blast. It scraped to a halt at the foot of the steps, and Renner got out.

“If it’s not the Dope Sisters,” he said. “I just wanted to let you know I’ll be hunting all week. I got my limit, and I’m coming back for more. Hiya doin’ Nellie? Long time no see.”

Nellie wondered what she had ever seen in this scruffy outlaw. But that had been long ago. He was perhaps wondering similar things about her.

Karen said, “I told you, Renner, you’re not welcome here any more. Tell him yourself, Nellie.”

Renner looked up the steps at Nellie, gazed into her eyes till she had to look away. “Nellie and I are old friends,” Renner said.

“That was a long time ago,” Nellie said. “Get lost, pal.”

“So anyway,” Renner said, “I thought I’d take soak in your hot tubs after I get done hunting, and I was wondering if you could get one of your hippie chicks to give me a massage. How much?”

Karen said, “Renner, if I hear this truck on my property tomorrow, I promise you I’m calling Sheriff Higgins.”

Renner laughed. “I promise you you’re not calling the sheriff, Miss Hope. I don’t think that would be very neighborly at all.”

While he was talking, Baxter came out the front door of the hotel, dressed in his formal three-piece-suit and carrying a leather attaché case. He walked down the steps, stood before Renner, set down the attaché case, and bowed. Then he looked up into Renner’s face and smiled politely.

“Who’s this, your butler?”

Baxter said, “I believe this is yours, m’lord.” He lifted the attaché case and handed it to Renner.

Renner took it by the handle and said, “What the hell is this? It’s moving.”

“If I’m not mistaken, you left it behind, m’lord.”

“What the hell is this?” Renner repeated. “Who the hell are you?”

Nellie and Karen sat on the top step to watch. Baxter bowed again, turned, and walked up the steps, past the Hope sisters, and into the hotel.

Nick Renner placed the attaché case on the bottom step and unsnapped its clasp. He lifted the lid and jumped back. The case was buzzing loudly, and a snake’s head, almost the size of a tennis ball, lifted out and darted a tongue in Renner’s direction.

“Jesus Christ!” Renner yelled. “Jesus!” He went for the shotgun on his gun rack, but by the time he could take aim, Karen was standing between him and the attaché case, her hands on her hips.

“I told you, Renner, no more senseless slaughter at Hope Springs. Get out.”

“You people are insane,” Renner replied. He put the gun back on its rack and stepped up into the cab of his truck. “Fuckin weird!” He turned on his mighty noise and fled.

Nellie tucked the mechanical toy snake back into the attaché case, laughing. “What was that all about?” she asked. “About the sheriff? Has he got something on you?”

Karen sighed. “He knows about my vegetable garden. That’s why I’ve let him hunt, not because you made some stupid promise to him twenty-five years ago.”

“You should get rid of that garden,” Nellie told her. “Then there wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Don’t start in on that,” Karen snapped.

“How much do you smoke, anyway?” Nellie asked.

“It’s none of your damn business how much I smoke. I don’t need your criticism.”

“I wasn’t being critical, I just wondered. I’m concerned.”

“Concerned my ass. That is so lame. ‘I wasn’t being critical.’ There’s no way to ask how much dope a person smokes without being critical. How about you? How much do you drink? Huh? How many glasses of wine have you had already today? How long have you been a drunk?”

“Well there’s no reason to get bitchy. I was just saying….”

“Who’s a bitch?” Karen wanted to know. “Huh? Who? Huh?” She turned and went into the hotel, slamming the door behind her.

Nellie sighed. Her face was hot, stinging as if she’d been slapped with a wet hand. She held her wrap tightly about her shoulders and walked across the driveway and down to the smoking bridge for a cigarette before dinner.

———

Casey lit the kerosene lantern that hung on the hook by the smoking bridge. It was his favorite time of day. The trees up the valley had turned into silhouettes, soft against the gray sky.

“Hello, Casey dear,” Nellie said, as she approached the bridge. “Fancy seeing you here. Join me for a smoke?”

“No thanks. I have to light the lanterns and lamps.”

“Karen and I were just talking about you,” she said. “We think you’re wonderful. You’re going to make a fine innkeeper.”

“I’m just a simple piano player,” Casey answered, but he liked what she had said: innkeeper. Nice word.

From the smoking bridge, he walked over to the bathhouse, lighting lanterns along the path. He lit the two big lanterns at the top of the stone steps and the three solid lamps that rested on short wooden posts inside the bathhouse. Mist rose in the yellow evening lamplight from the long tiled baths and softened the shadows on the bathhouse walls. The place was warm and moist and fragrant with sulfur, and the flowing water gurgled sweetly.

Casey crossed the driveway to the hotel and lit the lanterns on the verandah, then entered the lobby. He lit kerosene lamps in the lobby, the library, and the lounge, then went up the grand staircase and lit lamps on the second and third-floor landings. With no guests in the hotel, he did not have to light the lamps up and down the halls. There were twelve guestrooms on the second floor and eight on the third. At one end of the third floor was Karen’s apartment, which had once been the master suite of her parents; the other end consisted of the staff dormitory. Casey walked down the hall to the dormitory and looked in. Lamps were already lit, and a few of the Yellows were playing cards. He said hello, and they smiled back.

He went down the back stairs, lighting two more lamps along the way. The stairs met the ground floor in a small hallway between the kitchen and the dining room. The kitchen was already brightly lit with half a dozen lamps on counters and lamp stands. The place was warm and smelled of spicy curry. Diana’s helpers were at the long counter in the center of the kitchen, making salads and cutting bread. Diana stood at the giant twelve-burner stove, stirring a stock pot. Casey put his hands on her shoulders and gave her a friendly squeeze, and she leaned back against his chest and hummed.

“You smell like curry,” he told her. “And like garlic and onions and olive oil and sweat.”

“You say the sweetest things,” she said.

“Darling, you-oo-oo-oo scent me….”

She laughed. “Get out of here and let me cook,” she said.

The lamps on the dining room tables were already lit. The long table was set for the staff dinner. Dinner for thirteen.

Diana was responsible for only one meal a day. The staff were on their own for breakfasts and lunches, although she was usually in the kitchen, ready to make anyone a sandwich or offer a bowl of soup. But dinner was her main event, six nights a week. She was a superb cook, and the meals got better and better as she practiced for the busy times ahead, and as she trained her staff to put art and joy into their chores.

More and more each evening, as he came to the end of his lamp-lighting routine, Casey realized, in the warmth and the lamplight and the aroma and the fellowship, that he had found nearly everything he was looking for, and that more was on its way. He went through the dining room into the lounge. He finished at the piano, where he had saved two last lamps to light, one above either side of the keyboard.

Sitting on the bench, he imagined the audience he would soon be entertaining, guests standing around the piano with glasses in their hands and smiles on their faces. “Let me,” he sang to them, “live ’neath your spell….” He sang, “A house that rings with joy and laughter….” “This is the life,” he sang. “Nice work, if you can get it.”

He heard the triangle clang, summoning the community to dinner.

———

“Casey, how old are you?” Diana asked.

“Thirty-eight,” he replied. “And you?”

“Thirty-six. So I guess you could say we’re both grownups.”

They sat facing each other in bath number two. The water was 105 degrees. It was late, and everyone else had left the bathhouse for the night. In the past, Diana had usually retired early, but lately she found herself taking long, late-night baths just to be in his company. Casey. She picked up his foot and placed it in her lap, the heel wedged into her crotch, and began kneading his arch with her thumbs.

After dinner the whole staff would do the dishes together, with Casey at the sink, leading the sing-along: “Take out those glasses and those plates!” Then, when the last pots and pans were dried and hung on the rack, and the counters wiped clean, and the kitchen lamps blown out, Casey would wander out to the lounge, and Diana would follow. They’d make music for an hour or so, old songs Diana could hardly believe she still remembered, new old songs every night. Where did he come up with all these memories? Tonight he’d played and sung “The Folks Who Live on the Hill.” Was he singing that for her? To her? Did he ever sing for her? Did he have any idea?

His face in the misty bathhouse lamplight was strong and beaded with sweat, but relaxed, serene. His eyes were closed and his head was back, resting against the edge of the bath. Diana pulled his toes, one by one. She slid her forefinger between the toes and massaged the sides of them, the tender valleys where they met. Come on, she thought. Your turn. Don’t fall asleep on me.

He must have picked it up. He began stroking her instep by his hip, then lifted her foot and began to squeeze. “Take my foot,” he sang, “I’m a strangler in paradise….”

If only he wouldn’t sing quite so much.

“So,” she repeated. “Grownups.”

“You make me feel so….”

She yanked on his little toe. “Shut up a minute,” she said. “I’m trying to build up some courage here.”

He stopped singing and opened his eyes and smiled at her. “Yes?”

“Yes. See, I was thinking, here we are, these two grownups, stark naked, worn out from a good hard day’s work, and all the children have gone to bed, and even the stars have gone to bed behind a blanket of clouds, and maybe it’s time for us to go to bed too, and for a change, I was just thinking, maybe we could, or even should, well no, could at least….Why don’t we sleep in the same bed together tonight, Casey? In your room. I want to be with you when you wake up and hear the first rain of the season hitting the roof over our heads.”

Casey closed his eyes again and sat silently for a minute. Then he stood up and said, “I want to sit in bath number one a little while. I need to cool down.”

“Okay.” Diana stood, hoping he would offer her a hand to steady her, hoping the hand would become an arm, an embrace. Nope.

Casey crawled out of the bath and crawled across the tiles on all fours, then flopped sideways into the water of bath number one, with a loud splash. When he was settled, Diana slipped in softly beside him and took his hand.

“You owe me at least some kind of response,” she said. “That took guts. I think I deserve to know why we haven’t spent a night together since the time you came here to tune the piano. We haven’t even had sex since then. Why is that?”

Casey had known this was coming. He didn’t know when it would happen, but here it was and he would have to deal with it. “I have this problem,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“What problem? With sex? Anything I can do to help?”

She put her hand on his thigh, and he picked it up and held it. “Not sex exactly,” he said. “It’s this addiction to romance. Hard to explain.”

“You better give it a try,” Diana said. “There’s nothing wrong with romance, and there’s no shortage around here so you’re not going to be caught without a stash. Let’s hear the real reason you don’t want to sleep with me anymore. We did it when we first met, and as I remember it was what I’d call pretty great. But since you moved in here at Hope Springs, no action. I can take rejection, but I want to know the score.”

Casey sighed. “I have this problem with marijuana,” he began.

“Who cares? We’re not talking about marijuana.”

“Listen. So I have this dope habit, but I keep it under control, perfectly under control. I smoke once a day, and that’s it. That keeps me cool. Okay?”

Diana withdrew a bit, pulled her body a few feet upstream. “Go on.”

“Well, I also have this thing about romance. And that one’s not so easy to control.”

“Meaning?”

God. Why didn’t she just let it alone? There was no chance they’d patch this conversation up in time for a goodnight hug. Casey just hoped they’d be back to square one by morning, in time to share the first bath of the day. He liked this woman so much.

“Meaning? Come on. Meaning?”

“I fall in love too easily….” Casey sang.

“Stop singing.”

“If I spend the night with you, I’ll want to spend tomorrow night with you.”

“Hey, no problem.”

“Then it becomes a relationship. And if I get into a relationship with you I won’t be free,” Casey told her. “I’m sorry, but I want to be free.”

“Free for what?”

“Free for….”

“Yes?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I think I have a hard time with commitment.”

“You think? Then maybe you’d better think again about being a hotel manager, because come the first of the year you’re going to be working your ass off. We both will. We all will. You’re going to be stressed out, and so will I, and we might need each other for comfort. Or are you saving yourself so you’ll be free to romance the guests? All those movie stars Nellie’s planning to lure here? Is that it? I don’t think it’s such a good idea, you know, sex with the guests. Not cool for an innkeeper. You better leave that to Baxter. Jesus, how did we get into this? I’m sorry. Forget I asked.”

Casey put his hand on her ankle. He felt her pull it away, but he held on. “Wait,” he said. “I don’t want to romance the guests. That’s not it at all.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Diana said. “Doesn’t matter who you fuck. Whom.” She yanked her foot away from his grip, and he felt he was losing the best friend he’d made in a long while.

Diana rose to her feet and climbed out of the water, onto the tile deck. As always, Casey admired her beautiful, bountiful body. She did not look at him as she dried off. She put on her yellow robe and left the bathhouse without saying goodnight.

Casey began to twitch. The day had had its ups, its downs.

It was a shame to have a day end on a down.

He got out of the bath and dried off and put on his robe. He felt the book of matches in his robe pocket. He blew out the lamps and walked out on the front steps of the bathhouse. The air was moist and cool, the heavens black and heavy. It would rain any minute.

He recalled an option from a hiding place in his mind that had never quite stayed hidden. The milk can on the smoking bridge. Where he had thrown his daily roach, after his daily smoke. Some of those roaches were longer than others. Any minute now the rain would fall, would fall into that milk can, and those roaches would be goners.

So if he was going to cheat the system, it had better be now. Right now.

Casey blew out the two standing lamps at the entrance to the bathhouse. Then he blew out the lanterns along the path from the baths to the smoking bridge.

———

From his ledge in front of the water house, Nqong trained his binoculars on the sleeping community far down in the valley. The hotel glowed softly in the moist night. He watched the bathhouse become dark; then one by one he saw the outdoor lanterns winked out, and the outside became completely dark. Then a tiny flame flickered, and a tinier spot glowed and dimmed, glowed and dimmed.

Nqong went into the warm water house, wiped off his binoculars, and set them on a shelf. He washed his face in each of the vats, took a sip from each of the taps, checked the thermometers, and held each of the glass tubes up to the lamplight. He went back into the cave and put his hand on each of the pipes one last time. He adjusted one valve a quarter of an inch counterclockwise.

Nqong donned his yellow canvas wrap and stepped back outside into the rain. Chilly drops fell on his bare skin. He stood in the wind and let the rain wash the dust from his body. He faced the north and lifted his grin to the black sky and let the raindrops tickle his teeth. The rock ledge beneath his bare feet was growing slippery.

Here comes fall.