The Last Days of Dogtown

“Ruth,” he repeated.

She opened her eyes and recognized the face, but not the expression on it. Nor could she summon a name.

She tried to open her mouth. She tried to lift her hand.

“Can you hear me?” he said, louder.

She managed a strangled squeak.

Tan whined.

“Ruth?” shouted the man with the heavy eyes. She blinked at him. He got to his feet. From where she lay, it seemed that he’d retreated all the way to the sky, more like a tree than a man.

He looked down at her, soaked and soiled, her face puddled into a mess of features that once belonged to Ruth.

She was trembling.

“I’ve got to get you into town,” he said, doubting that she understood. She blinked, and he wondered if maybe she did.

Cornelius lit a fire and dragged Ruth near the warmth, dismayed by the heaviness of her limp body: he would not be able to carry her on his back. He warmed some water and found a cloth and some extra clothes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, as he took down her trousers and wiped away at the mess, trying not to soil his hands any more than he had to, trying not to retch, trying to keep his eyes averted. Tan watched, panting lightly.

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Cornelius found the tea and made a cup, but he couldn’t figure out how to get any of it into Ruth’s flaccid mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and tried to reassure her. “We’ll go at first light. Easter’ll take care of you, I figure.”

Ruth blinked. Easter was the little woman who should have been sitting by the fire. Not this tall, sad man. She fell back into sleep, or something like it.

“You’re not dead, are you?” said Cornelius, alarmed.

Her eyes flew open and the man jumped. He got to his feet and poked at the fire and then put his coat on top of the blankets he had already piled on top of her. “I’m going to find that sledge of yours,” he said and walked outside, glad for the freshness of the icy air.

Tan moved closer and lay down, pressing the length of herself against Ruth, whose eyes brimmed over.

As soon as the sky began to lighten, Cornelius hoisted her onto the sled and bound her with ropes. “I’m sorry,” he said, again and again, worried that he was hurting her.

Ruth blinked. “Thank you,” she blinked. “Thank you.”

The trip into Gloucester was torturous for them both.

If only there had been more snow, thought Cornelius; then he could have glided her part of the way, at least. As it was, he had to drag her over rocks and deep ruts so that nearly every step tossed her head from side to side and rattled her teeth. Ruth tasted blood on her tongue. Her bladder loosed itself again, and she squeezed her eyes tight, ashamed. Tan followed, step for step, ten feet behind.

The tavern was still dark and shuttered when

Cornelius pounded on the door. Louisa Tuttle opened an upstairs window with a pitcher of water to dump over the rowdy who dared disturb them at such an hour. When she

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The L A S T D AY S of D O G TOW N