Boulders
by Cedric Wentworth
Everything, it seemed, conspired to make the morning beautiful. A breeze prevented the sunshine from becoming too hot. Buds on the magnolia trees indicated the approach of giant white flowers. Birds--sparrows, thrushes, robins--scuttled amongst the dead leaves, searching for berries. Lizards pressed their blue bellies against rocks, absorbing warmth.
He noticed none of it. Neither his wife. The pair walked the trail in silence. She led. He followed. He slowed, allowing space to accumulate between them. His mind drifted from one wrong to another. He wanted out, as did his wife. She perhaps more than him. As far as she was concerned, the vows had been irrevocably broken, and it was his fault. The time had come to move on. She stopped to tie her shoe on a rock, saw a blue belly warming itself in the sun, failed to notice it completely. At this moment, for her, the landscape was invisible.
A gentle curve in the trail turned sharp around a formation of large boulders protruding out of the hillside. Once past the boulders, the trail grew steep, descending rapidly toward oak trees. A barbed wire fence slicing the hillside prevented the casual hiker from accessing the oak trees. A cow rested in the grass beside one of the oaks, taking advantage of shade provided by the tree’s canopy.
Suzanne tied her shoe and disappeared round the rocks. Christopher slowed, waited. For a few moments, she was gone. He sighed, swallowed, stepped off the trail, sat down in the weeds. How could things turn so malignant? He had no clue. They simply had. It was beyond his control and there was nothing he could or wanted to do about it.
“Fuck me,” he said. “It’s over.”
Suzanne dropped down the trail. She reached the barbed wire fence and looked at the cow. Several hundred feet behind the animal was a galvanized metal tub similar in circumference to a bathtub, but with vertical sides. A horse had its head in the tub. The horse lifted its head and gazed vacantly at her, water trickling off its muzzle. It looked neither cheerful nor anxious. It was simply there, drinking. Its head disappeared beneath the rim of the tub. The cow’s legs pushed out sideways in the dirt. Its mandible moved in a circular motion, grinding cud.
A man appeared. He stood next to the trunk of an oak tree, twenty paces from the masticating cow. He wore tan dungarees. At first Suzanne didn’t see him. She stood there, making eye contact with the cow, and watching the horse’s head reappear, more water flowing off its muzzle into the tub. The man stood still, taking in the sight of Suzanne watching the animals. He’d seen her before, more than a few times. He appreciated her vivacity. Suzanne had a certain something about her that made her very attractive, and it wasn’t her appearance. He thought to himself: “Isn’t it funny how someone can grow on you over time. At the beginning, I wouldn’t have looked twice at the woman.”
Suzanne had a sudden urge to spread the strands of barbed wire apart and squeeze through to the other side. She’d done it before, once, however it ended badly when a bull came at her and she was forced to retreat and squeeze back out in a hurry, tearing her shirt and scratching her shoulder enough to draw blood. She didn’t see any bull, but he might be hiding somewhere, he might come galloping over the top of the hill. They move surprisingly fast when they want to.
The horse suddenly neighed, shook its head up and down, and jerked to the side. Then it resumed drinking. The man waved. Suzanne caught sight of him and waved back. He approached the fence. She gazed behind her at the boulder formation. No one was back there. The man leaned forward. She did too, for a brief moment, and kissed him. Then she quickly pulled away, again glancing up the trail. A pair of turkey vultures rode a thermal high above the rocks.
“Where is he?” the man asked.
Suzanne shrugged.
“Is he back there?”
She nodded.
“Should I go up there?”
She shrugged. The man pulled the rusted strands of barbed wire apart and slid sideways through the fence. He walked over the dirt to the trail, put his hands on his hips, stared at the boulders. Christopher had never seen him before, wouldn’t think anything of seeing him. He glanced at Suzanne. She shrugged. She simply stood there in her white skirt as if to say it was out of her hands. She didn’t know where Christopher was and that was that. If this man wanted to go up there and find him, he could do it. If he wanted to wait for Christopher down here, he could do that, too. Christopher was bound to catch up to her at some point, because she’s the one who had the car keys, and they were miles from home.
The man returned to Suzanne. He gave her a swift peck on the lips. “I’ll go up there,” he said.
“Ok,” she said. “But come back if you don’t see him.”
The man chuckled. “Of course. Where would I go?”
“I don’t want you going to the parking lot.”
“Why not?”
“There’s people there.”
“You saw other cars?”
“No.”
“Who’s there?”
“They may arrive.”
The man separated from Suzanne. “I’m going to the boulders and coming back. If I don’t see him, I’m coming back.”
Suzanne sat in the dirt. She watched the masticating cow. Round and round in a circle went the animal’s jawbone, chewing the half-digested grass. Every now and then a big pink tongue that looked almost sexual dropped out of its mouth. She watched the man take a small snub-nosed pistol out of his dungarees, slide the barrel to the side, look in the chamber, smack it closed. He wandered up the trail with the gun in his pocket. Three minutes later, he disappeared around the rocks.
Suzanne waited. Feet away from where she sat, she noticed a hole in the ground. Fire ants went in and out of the hole. They marched in a column through the sticks and pebbles and dead grasses toward the fence. Some ants broke off from the column, exploring other areas. A few of the red insects meandered toward her ankles. “Jesus, those things are huge,” she said, lifting herself off the ground. They could sneak under her skirt. That wouldn’t be pleasant.
A shot rang out. She glanced up at the boulders. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.
After waiting for five minutes, Suzanne grew impatient and started walking back. Halfway up the hill, she saw a man standing on top of the rocks. She froze. The man dropped back down the other side, out of sight. He heard her scream. “She didn’t see that coming,” he said to himself.
Suzanne ran up the hill, her skirt billowing. On the other side, the man trudged the path toward the parking lot. He ducked under the magnolia trees near the trailhead. Above his head, glossy purple leaves shuddered in the breeze, reminding him that the morning felt good. He would wait for her at the car. He would wait for her as long as she wanted him to wait.
Suzanne was trembling. Christopher must have known all along. But how? Where could he possibly have seen him?
Fire ants, excited by the smell of blood, crisscrossed the soil by her feet.
At the trailhead, Christopher stopped to catch his breath. The sun had risen, grown hotter. He gazed at the landscape. For the first time, he noticed the buzzards. They used a thermal escaping up the hill to glide effortlessly in circles above the boulders. Suzanne was a long way off. From such a distance, he had difficulty discerning what she was doing. It seemed she was looking at him while kneeling in the dry grass by the foot of the boulder. He turned his back on the trail and continued to the parking lot.
He noticed none of it. Neither his wife. The pair walked the trail in silence. She led. He followed. He slowed, allowing space to accumulate between them. His mind drifted from one wrong to another. He wanted out, as did his wife. She perhaps more than him. As far as she was concerned, the vows had been irrevocably broken, and it was his fault. The time had come to move on. She stopped to tie her shoe on a rock, saw a blue belly warming itself in the sun, failed to notice it completely. At this moment, for her, the landscape was invisible.
A gentle curve in the trail turned sharp around a formation of large boulders protruding out of the hillside. Once past the boulders, the trail grew steep, descending rapidly toward oak trees. A barbed wire fence slicing the hillside prevented the casual hiker from accessing the oak trees. A cow rested in the grass beside one of the oaks, taking advantage of shade provided by the tree’s canopy.
Suzanne tied her shoe and disappeared round the rocks. Christopher slowed, waited. For a few moments, she was gone. He sighed, swallowed, stepped off the trail, sat down in the weeds. How could things turn so malignant? He had no clue. They simply had. It was beyond his control and there was nothing he could or wanted to do about it.
“Fuck me,” he said. “It’s over.”
Suzanne dropped down the trail. She reached the barbed wire fence and looked at the cow. Several hundred feet behind the animal was a galvanized metal tub similar in circumference to a bathtub, but with vertical sides. A horse had its head in the tub. The horse lifted its head and gazed vacantly at her, water trickling off its muzzle. It looked neither cheerful nor anxious. It was simply there, drinking. Its head disappeared beneath the rim of the tub. The cow’s legs pushed out sideways in the dirt. Its mandible moved in a circular motion, grinding cud.
A man appeared. He stood next to the trunk of an oak tree, twenty paces from the masticating cow. He wore tan dungarees. At first Suzanne didn’t see him. She stood there, making eye contact with the cow, and watching the horse’s head reappear, more water flowing off its muzzle into the tub. The man stood still, taking in the sight of Suzanne watching the animals. He’d seen her before, more than a few times. He appreciated her vivacity. Suzanne had a certain something about her that made her very attractive, and it wasn’t her appearance. He thought to himself: “Isn’t it funny how someone can grow on you over time. At the beginning, I wouldn’t have looked twice at the woman.”
Suzanne had a sudden urge to spread the strands of barbed wire apart and squeeze through to the other side. She’d done it before, once, however it ended badly when a bull came at her and she was forced to retreat and squeeze back out in a hurry, tearing her shirt and scratching her shoulder enough to draw blood. She didn’t see any bull, but he might be hiding somewhere, he might come galloping over the top of the hill. They move surprisingly fast when they want to.
The horse suddenly neighed, shook its head up and down, and jerked to the side. Then it resumed drinking. The man waved. Suzanne caught sight of him and waved back. He approached the fence. She gazed behind her at the boulder formation. No one was back there. The man leaned forward. She did too, for a brief moment, and kissed him. Then she quickly pulled away, again glancing up the trail. A pair of turkey vultures rode a thermal high above the rocks.
“Where is he?” the man asked.
Suzanne shrugged.
“Is he back there?”
She nodded.
“Should I go up there?”
She shrugged. The man pulled the rusted strands of barbed wire apart and slid sideways through the fence. He walked over the dirt to the trail, put his hands on his hips, stared at the boulders. Christopher had never seen him before, wouldn’t think anything of seeing him. He glanced at Suzanne. She shrugged. She simply stood there in her white skirt as if to say it was out of her hands. She didn’t know where Christopher was and that was that. If this man wanted to go up there and find him, he could do it. If he wanted to wait for Christopher down here, he could do that, too. Christopher was bound to catch up to her at some point, because she’s the one who had the car keys, and they were miles from home.
The man returned to Suzanne. He gave her a swift peck on the lips. “I’ll go up there,” he said.
“Ok,” she said. “But come back if you don’t see him.”
The man chuckled. “Of course. Where would I go?”
“I don’t want you going to the parking lot.”
“Why not?”
“There’s people there.”
“You saw other cars?”
“No.”
“Who’s there?”
“They may arrive.”
The man separated from Suzanne. “I’m going to the boulders and coming back. If I don’t see him, I’m coming back.”
Suzanne sat in the dirt. She watched the masticating cow. Round and round in a circle went the animal’s jawbone, chewing the half-digested grass. Every now and then a big pink tongue that looked almost sexual dropped out of its mouth. She watched the man take a small snub-nosed pistol out of his dungarees, slide the barrel to the side, look in the chamber, smack it closed. He wandered up the trail with the gun in his pocket. Three minutes later, he disappeared around the rocks.
Suzanne waited. Feet away from where she sat, she noticed a hole in the ground. Fire ants went in and out of the hole. They marched in a column through the sticks and pebbles and dead grasses toward the fence. Some ants broke off from the column, exploring other areas. A few of the red insects meandered toward her ankles. “Jesus, those things are huge,” she said, lifting herself off the ground. They could sneak under her skirt. That wouldn’t be pleasant.
A shot rang out. She glanced up at the boulders. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.
After waiting for five minutes, Suzanne grew impatient and started walking back. Halfway up the hill, she saw a man standing on top of the rocks. She froze. The man dropped back down the other side, out of sight. He heard her scream. “She didn’t see that coming,” he said to himself.
Suzanne ran up the hill, her skirt billowing. On the other side, the man trudged the path toward the parking lot. He ducked under the magnolia trees near the trailhead. Above his head, glossy purple leaves shuddered in the breeze, reminding him that the morning felt good. He would wait for her at the car. He would wait for her as long as she wanted him to wait.
Suzanne was trembling. Christopher must have known all along. But how? Where could he possibly have seen him?
Fire ants, excited by the smell of blood, crisscrossed the soil by her feet.
At the trailhead, Christopher stopped to catch his breath. The sun had risen, grown hotter. He gazed at the landscape. For the first time, he noticed the buzzards. They used a thermal escaping up the hill to glide effortlessly in circles above the boulders. Suzanne was a long way off. From such a distance, he had difficulty discerning what she was doing. It seemed she was looking at him while kneeling in the dry grass by the foot of the boulder. He turned his back on the trail and continued to the parking lot.
Cedric Wentworth crafts entertaining pieces of short fiction oriented around themes of dissemblance, anger, and betrayal. His characters are average souls imbued with unusually powerful emotions--emotions that not infrequently land them in hot water. He lives and writes in San Francisco.