car to go with his mustache. What's he doing way out here?
He says he doesn't like how I look. It's twilight. How come he can see me so well?
He's popped the trunk.
"Put your cart in back."
I step off the road on the rocky down side. He can't follow. Not in the car.
But he's out and is opening the passenger door for me. "I'll drive you."
Thank goodness it's almost dark. And it's even darker in the shadows of the boulders where Natty and I hide. Natty's a talkative cat, but he knows not to make a sound.
The doctor calls a few more times. "I can help."
Exactly what I don't want most is help.
Finally he drives off.
What now? Are they going to be chasing me? Capture the crazy woman? Do I have something else to worry about? Why do they care?
I'm going to walk on through the night. It's safer.
Whenever a car goes by, I hide in the ditch. It's not easy, what with my cart and all. At least you can see the cars coming from a long ways off.
We reach the top of the hill. Now the road will be flat again for a nice long while.
Finally, there in the ditch, I just have to stay and sleep.
In the morning I see there's somebody else walking along, way, way, way ahead of me—by about six miles I'd say. Here the road is so straight and flat and there's so few trees you can see for miles. I think the next hillock is probably about twelve miles away.
Hours pass, but I'm catching up. He doesn't stop to rest. I don't either. What if he, too, has funny feelings? And there'll be safety in numbers. For me at least. Maybe if the doctor sees I have somebody . . . especially a man . . . he won't bother me anymore.
I get all shaky with hope. Somebody else, maybe, who knows what I and Natty know. He won't think I'm crazy.
Finally, he sits down. It takes me half an hour to catch up, and then I walk past so as to take a good look first.
We're both elderly. We're both skinny from so much walking. We're both browned by the sun and have chapped lips. We both have big hats. I got mine when I started wondering about crossing the desert.
He stares as I go by. He's wondering about me as much as I'm wondering about him. He has a cart much bigger and sturdier than mine. More like a wheelbarrow, only he's rigged it with a loop around his waist so he can pull it. I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't have a tent. And there's a frying pan tied on top. I'll bet he never hitch hikes. He's got too much stuff.
He's found a nice spot to rest. There's an arroyo and actually a few spindly cottonwoods growing along the banks. Not exactly giving shade. Under the road is a culvert for when there's water in the arroyo. That'll be where he pees.
I turn around and come back.
He looks like a country person . . . farmer or some such . . . though by now I may not look like I'm from the city either.
Before I sit down (not too close), I search the sky. Out here you can see a lot of it.
I say, "So far everything is fine."
He doesn't bother answering. It's clear that it is.
We sit silently but I can't tell if it's a comfortable silence or an uncomfortable one.
Natty's the only one who gives a questioning, "Yeow?"
When the man gets up to go on, I do, too. He didn't ask me to come, but he didn't say not to.
It's evening and this was a good spot to spend the night, but off he goes. He may be trying to get away from us. Some people don't like cats.
Is he going to walk all night? I don't dare ask. If I ask he may tell me not to follow.
We go on and on. Towards morning he comes to a group of spindly trees. I stay about twenty yards behind so as not to be a bother. I collapse just off the road. In the ditch so to speak. At least there's enough run-off for there to be bushes all along the road side. Almost like the edges of the rivers. I don't even have the energy to get us our can of cat food.
I wake up late the next morning. To the sound of traffic—if