Juniper Time

by Kate Wilhelm

  “I know,” she said softly. “But it wasn’t going to be like that, was it, Murray? You weren’t really going to take me anywhere, were you? It’s too late already.”

  Cluny jerked around to see Murray standing across the room from them. Murray had a gun. Cluny nearly laughed at the preposterous picture of fat little Murray with a gun.

  “What the hell are you up to?” he asked, and his voice was curiously high, unfamiliar.

  “Move away from her,” Murray said, looking at Jean. “Don’t be a goddamn fool.” Cluny took a step toward Murray. The gun didn’t shift, was pointing steadily at Jean. “Murray! Look at me! You’re under a strain, tired. Give yourself a couple of days; you’ll see she’s not really a threat, not after she’s back on the reservation.”

  Murray seemed not to hear him. He took a step sideways, to get Cluny out of the way.

  He was going to do it, Cluny knew, and it seemed that everything stopped. She had known, he realized; this was what she had meant. It wasn’t finished yet, the pattern was not complete. She waited, willing it to happen, willing completion, order out of chaos, fulfillment.

  “No!” he screamed. He flung himself at Murray and heard the roar of the gun echo over and over in his head.

  Murray tried to stop his fingers, tried not to pull the trigger, to turn the gun away, to make his hand fall. Cluny’s eyes held him; his scream and the report of the shot blended, became a single sound that beat its way into Murray’s head, into his chest, where it exploded again, soundlessly this time.

  Cluny was twisted, thrown backward as if a giant invisible fist had slammed him. The explosion in Murray’s chest was sending shock waves through him. Somewhere he was sobbing, “Not Cluny! Jesus God, not Cluny!” He saw Jean at Cluny’s side. A shock wave raced through Murray’s arm; he could not feel his hand, the gun in his hand. Another wave swept up over his face, blinding him momentarily. Jean reappeared; he tried to fire the gun again, but his fingers were numb, his legs. . . . He could not get a breath. This time when the wave raced through his body, up into his head, it did not recede.

  Jean knelt by Cluny and tore open his shirt. “You’re here, Cluny. You’re not going to die! Not yet, not like this! . . .” Someone pulled her away.

  “Call Zach! Tell him to bring a doctor!”

  She waited in the living room, leaning her forehead against the window, thinking nothing at all. When Zach finally came to her, she closed her eyes for a moment before she turned.

  “Cluny’s going to be all right,” he said wearily. “Murray’s dead.” He sat down on the couch and put his face in his hands. “All we’re releasing is that Murray had a heart attack.” He looked up then. “Cluny’s going to need a long rest when he gets out of here. He told the doctor you promised to take him home and take care of him. Anything to that?”

  She nodded.

  “We’ll fly you two out as soon as he can move. A week, ten days.” He pushed himself up stiffly. “The nurse is staying overnight. Get some rest.” He went to the door and paused. “We’ll keep everyone away from you and Cluny until he’s able to go. After that . . .”

  He thought Cluny would be her jailer, she realized. Coyote guarding the rabbit. But which of them was which?

  “They won’t find me,” she said, going to the door with him. She held out her hand hesitantly, unsure if he would be willing to touch her. He took it in both of his. He looked very tired, weary. Softly she said, “It isn’t over yet. It’ll never really be over. But maybe we have enough time now. Maybe it’ll work.”

  His hands pressed hers hard for a moment. “A gift of time? We’ll see. We’ll see.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead, then left.

  Back in her room, she sat on the bed. “I wanted to die,” she said softly. “It would have been absolution.” She imagined a faint sound, Serena’s laughter, and heard her voice, mildly sarcastic: “And you have to search for another way. Poor little Jean.”

  She laughed at herself and got ready for bed then. She would show him the places where volcanoes had shaped the land, where earthquakes had opened chasms that time had not yet filled again. She would teach him the many things they could eat and how to prepare them, and the many other things they could not eat. They would watch redtail’s soaring flight and listen to the coyotes’ chorus and count stars. And perhaps he would be cured, she thought sleepily. His exile would end; he would go to the stars, and that would be good. And perhaps she would be cured the rest of the way, perhaps she would see what she was to do next.

  She slept and dreamed they were running together over black, red, and green fields of fire glass. They came to a chasm and she gave herself to the wind, which lifted and carried her effortlessly over the gorge. A juniper tree formed itself before her and she sank to the ground beneath it and looked at the sky through pale gray-blue needles. She did not look to see if he followed. She would wait here, she thought lazily. There was time enough.

  THE END