Limekiller!

Juan Antonoglu was presently called away to take care of some incoming guests from the lumber camps. He repeated Captain Sneed’s words to his mother, who, in effect, told him not to tell her how to make yogurt. She was as dutiful as anyone could be, and, after a while, her widower son’s children coming home, duty called her to start dinner. She repeated the instructions to the maid, whose name was Purificacion. Purificacion watched the sick man carefullv. Then, his eyes remaining closed, she tiptoed out to look for something certain to be of help for him, namely a small booklet of devotions to the Senor de Esquipulas, whose cultus was very popular in her native republic. But it began to drizzle again: out she rushed to, first, get the clothes off the line and, second, to hang them up in the lower rear hall.

Limekiller was alone.

The mahogany press had been waiting for this. It now assumed its rightful shape, which was that of an elderly gentleman rather expensively dressed in clothes rather old-fashioned in cut, and, carrying a long. something… in one hand, came over to Jack’s bed and looked at him most earnestly. Almost reproachfully. Giving him a hand to help him out of bed, in a very few moments he had Limekiller down the stairs and then, somehow, they were out on the river; and then. somehow. they were in the river. No.

Not exactlv.

Not at all.

They were under the river.

Odd.

Very odd.

A hundred veiled eves looked at them.

Such a dim light. Not like anything familiar. Wavering. What was that. A crocodile. I am getting out of here, said Limekiller, beginning to sweat profusely. This was the signal for everyone to let Captain Sneed know. But nobody was there. Except Limekiller. And, of course, the old man.

And, of course, the crocodile.

And, it now became clear, quite a number of other creatures. All reptilian. Why was he not terrified, instead of being merely alarmed? He was in fact, now that he came to consider it, not even all that alarmed. The creatures were looking at him. But there was somehow nothing terrifying in this. It seemed quite all right for him to be there.

The old man made that quite clear.

Quite clear.

“Is he delirious?” the redhead asked. Not just plain ordinary red. Copper-red.

“I don’t have enough Spanish to know if saying ‘barba amarilla means that you’re delirious, or not. Are you delirious?” asked the other one. The Short. Brown hair. Plain ordinary Brown.

“ ‘Barba amarilla means ‘yellow beard,’ ” Limekiller explained. Carefully.

“Then you aren’t delirious. I guess. - What does ‘yellow beard’ mean, in this context?”

But he could only shake his head.

“I mean, we can see that you do have a blond beard. Well, blond in parts. Is that your nickname? No.”

Coppertop said, anxiously, “His pulse seems so funny, May!” She was the Long. So here they were. The Long and the Short of it. Them. He gave a sudden snort of laughter.

“An insane cackle if ever I heard one,” said the Short. “Hm, Hmm. You’re right, Felix. It does seem so funny. Mumping all around the place — Oh, hello!”

Old Mrs. Antonoglu was steaming slowly down the lake, all the other vessels bobbing as her wake reached them. Very odd. Because it still was old Mrs. Antonoglu in her black dress and not really the old Lake Mickinuckee ferry boat. And this wasn’t a lake. Or a river. They were all back in his room. And the steam was coming from something in her hand.

Where was the old man with the sharp face? Tan old man. Clear. Things were far from clear, but -

“What I bring,” the old woman said, slowly and carefully and heavily, just the way in which she walked, “I bring ’im to drink for ’ealth, poor sick! Call the. call the. country yerba she said, dismissing the missing words.

The red-haired Long said, “Oh, good!”

Spoon by bitter spoonful she fed it to him. Sticks of something. Boiled in water. A lot of it dribbled down his beard. “Felix,” what an odd name. She wiped it carefully with kleenex.

“But ‘Limekiller’ is just as odd,” he felt it only fair to point out.

“Yes,” said the Short. “You certainly are. How did you know we were coming? We weren’t sure, ourselves. Nor do we know you. Not that it matters. We are emancipated women. Ride bicycles. But we don’t smoke cheroots, and we are not going to open an actuarial office with distempered walls, and the nature of Mrs. Warren’s profession does not bother us in the least: in fact, we have thought, now and then, of entering it in a subordinate capacity. Probably won’t, though. Still…”

Long giggled. Short said that the fact of her calling her Felix instead of Felicia shouldn’t be allowed to give any wrong ideas. It was just that Felicia always sounded so goddamn silly. They were both talking at once. The sound was very comforting.

The current of the river carried them all off, and then it got so very still.

Quite early next morning.

Limekiller felt fine.