The "matronly," the "sinless," the "innermost," and above all "symbolize," were mild surprises; nor would Dominic have imagined that Ketchum gave much thought to what was "embroidered" or "ignominious" or "tremulous" or "plaintive." The cook believed that "retribution" (especially the "punishment" part) was as much up his old friend's alley as the "possessed" factor, because Ketchum surely was possessed--to the degree that the "salvation" ingredient seemed highly unlikely. (And did Ketchum regularly feel a "pang"--a pang for whom or what? Dominic wondered.)
"Maybe they're just words," young Dan had reasoned.
"What do you mean, Daniel?"
Was Ketchum trying to improve his vocabulary? For an uneducated man, he was very well spoken--and he kept borrowing books!
"It's a list of kind of fancy words, most of them," Danny had speculated.
Yes, the cook concurred--"sex" and "bosom," and perhaps "pang," excluded.
"All I know is, I was readin' out loud to him, and then he took the fuckin' book and went into the bathroom and passed out," Six-Pack was saying. "He's got himself wedged in a corner, but he's still on the toilet," she added.
Dominic didn't want to know about the reading out loud. His impression of Ketchum's dance-hall women did not include an element of literary interest or curiosity; it was the cook's opinion that Ketchum rarely spoke to these women, or listened to them. But Dominic had once asked Ketchum (insincerely) what he did for "foreplay."
To the cook's considerable surprise, Ketchum had answered: "I ask them to read out loud to me. It gets me in the mood."
Or in the mood to take the book to the bathroom and pass out with it, Dominic now thought dryly. Nor did the cook imagine that the literacy level among Ketchum's dance-hall women was especially high. How did Ketchum know which women could read at all? And what was the book that had put him out of the mood with Six-Pack Pam? (Quite possibly, Ketchum simply had needed to go to the bathroom.)
Injun Jane had gone into the kitchen and now returned with a flashlight. "So you can find your way back," she said to Dominic, handing him the light. "I'll stay with Danny, and get him ready for bed."
"Can I go with you?" the boy asked his dad. "I could help you with Ketchum."
"My place ain't very suitable for kids, Danny," Pam told him.
That concept begged a response, but all the cook said was: "You stay with Jane, Daniel. I'll be right back," he added, m
ore to Jane than to his son, but the Indian dishwasher had already gone back inside the kitchen.
FROM THE UPSTAIRS OF THE COOKHOUSE, where the bedrooms were, there was a partial view of the river basin and a better view of the town above the basin. However, the town was so dark at night that one had little sense of the activities in the various saloons and hostelries from the distant cookhouse--nor could Danny and Injun Jane hear the music from the dance hall, where no one was dancing.
For a while, the boy and the Indian dishwasher had watched the two flashlights making their way to town. The cook's bobbing light was easily identified by his limp--and by his shorter steps, for Dominic needed to take twice as many steps to keep up with the longer strides of Six-Pack Pam. (It was their conversation Jane might have wished she could hear; it was Ketchum naked on the toilet Danny definitely wanted to see.) But soon the flashlights were lost in the fog shrouding the river basin, and in the dimmer lights of the town.
"He'll be back soon," the twelve-year-old said, because he must have sensed that Jane hoped so. She made no response, other than to turn down the bed in his father's room--she also turned the night-table light on.
Danny followed her into the upstairs hall, watching her touch the eight-inch cast-iron skillet as she left the bedroom. Shoulder-high to his dad, the skillet was breast-high to Injun Jane; it was level with Danny's eyes as he passed by it, touching it, too.
"Thinking about whacking a bear?" Jane asked the boy.
"I guess you were thinking about it," he told her.
"Go brush your teeth, and all that other stuff," she said.
The boy went into the bathroom he shared with his father. When he'd put on his pajamas and was ready for bed, Jane came into Danny's bedroom and sat on his bed beside him.
"I've never seen you undo your braid," the boy said. "I wonder what you look like with your hair down."
"You're too young to see me with my hair down," Jane told him. "I wouldn't want it on my conscience that I frightened you to death." The boy could see the playfulness in her eyes, under the visor of her Cleveland Indians cap.
There was a shout from the area of the town, and either a corresponding shout or an echo from the nearby river basin, but no words were distinguishable in the shouting, and any interconnected disputes or follow-up shouts were whipped away by the wind.
"It's dangerous in town on a Saturday night, isn't it?" Danny asked Injun Jane.
"I know this little fella with a limp--maybe you know who I mean--and he's always saying how it's 'a world of accidents.' Maybe that sounds familiar to you," Jane said. Her big hand had sneaked under the covers and found young Dan's armpit, where she knew he was the most ticklish.
"I know who you mean!" the twelve-year-old cried. "No tickling!"
"Well, the accidents are just more numerous on a Saturday night," Jane continued, not tickling him but keeping her hand in his armpit. "However, nobody's going to mess with your dad--not when Six-Pack is with him."