Salvation City - By Sigrid Nunez Page 0,70

a phone screen. PW was in the video, too, standing close behind him. They were both breathing a little hard from walking upslope.

The man spat an oyster onto the dirt between them, and when Cole jumped he knocked into PW, who placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Y-you b-boys lost?”

Besides the stutter, the man had a voice like a congested toddler. Growing up, he must have got laughed at every time he opened his mouth. Laugh at him today and he’d b-blow your b-brains out.

Before they could answer, one of the other men, who’d taken his cap off to reveal blond hair so dirty it was almost brunet, said, “You’re a good ways off the main trail.”

“I know that, sir,” said PW. It was his preacher’s voice: loud and firm. “There’s a knob up yonder overlooking a couple caves. We thought we might see some bear.”

“B-bear?” The first man shook his head. “Nossir. Y’all won’t see no bear.”

“No?”

“Like I said.”

“They still sleepin’,” threw in the blond, though he must have known this was false. He scratched his head vigorously before replacing his cap. “Law says you can’t hunt them anyhow.”

Cole didn’t understand what had made the man say that. The only gun they had was the pistol PW had brought along. At night he slept with it near his head. The rest of the time it was in his right jacket pocket.

A movement in the sky drew Cole’s eye upward. Red-tailed hawk, gliding. He was waiting for PW to explain that they weren’t on a hunting trip, but PW said nothing. Now the stutterer was looking up at the hawk, so Cole couldn’t see PW’s reflection anymore. But the hand on his shoulder had grown heavy as a saddle.

That morning there were only wisps of clouds, the kind people called God’s whiskers or angel hair. But suddenly it became much brighter, as if a cloud that had been covering the sun had moved on. In that light every tiny thing jumped out, leaf or pebble or acorn—every separate pine needle—as if under a magnifying glass.

Cole was having trouble breathing. For also magnified and microscopically clear was the fact that although he didn’t know these men and had done nothing to hurt them, that didn’t mean they would not hurt him. Such things didn’t happen only in movies. Murder didn’t happen only when there was a good reason for it to happen. Or any reason at all.

The blond pulled his cap off to scratch some more, and Cole wondered if he had cooties.

“They always warn folks should stick to the main trail.” Without raising his voice the man managed to sound terrifying. A bitter taste flooded Cole’s mouth. Not like this, he was thinking. To be terminated, for nothing, by strangers, by total fucking creeps. It must not be allowed to happen. And in the midst of his fear he had time to be amazed that he had ever thought it would be cool to die. “I was you,” said the man, “I’d turn ’round now and head back. This ain’t nowhere to be after dark.”

As if dusk weren’t ten hours off.

No one spoke for a few beats. Cole fought a vision of himself throwing his arms around PW’s neck and screaming like a girl. He braced himself for the shoot-out. Saw PW in one smooth movement whipping out his gun and knocking him out of harm’s way.

A squirrel watching from a maple dashed along a branch for a closer view, one paw curled toward its chest in a fretful gesture. Somewhere a window flew open and Cole saw his mother leaning out and making the same gesture. Probably only he could hear when PW finally sighed. The heavy hand lifted. Fingertips brushed Cole’s nape. “Let’s go, son.”

Over his shoulder, PW said what he always said when they met up with strangers: “Have a blessed day.” But there was no trace of warmth.

“You take care, mister.” It was the third man, speaking now for the first time, and as they headed downslope he continued to call after them, in a mysteriously agitated voice. “You take care of that boy of yours.” He sounded like a person trying to hold back laughter. “Don’t you let nothin’ bad happen to him, hear? Hey, mister! Take good care of your boy!” Then another voice snapped: “Goddamn it, leave it, Wayne.” And the laughter burst.

The laughter faded, leaving just the sound of their footsteps, quick and sliding on the downward path. PW stayed in the lead,