Graphic the Valley by Peter Brown Hoffmeister Read Free Book Online Page B

dangerous, uneven terrain. What happened to Joey can happen to anyone. And imagine if he’d slipped while his saw was running. Believe you me, that wouldn’t have been just a bloody knock on the back of his head. If one of you falls backwards with a saw running in his lap, you can damn well cut yourself in half. You understand?”
    We nodded.
    He looked at us and mimicked the motion of a chainsaw turning on him.
    He said, “Joey’s been transported down to the hospital in Bishop. EMTs said it’s a bad contusion and a serious concussion, but he should be all right. Now you all need to watch yourselves for the rest of the day. Okay?”
    People mumbled, “Okay.”
    I didn’t tell Lucy.
    That night, Lucy asked, “What are you thinking?”
    I was remembering crawling back up out of the ravine and throwing the blood rock as far as I could into the trees. Thinking about my hands and the superintendent. Blood this time. Not from my tongue.
    I said, “Nothing.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Yeah, I’m just tired,” I said.
    Lucy put her arms around my waist. “Too tired?”
    I kissed her mouth. “No. Not too tired.”
    • • •
    My father held his fist in the air. I imagined that he meant to put his finger up. He said, “There’s a voice inside your head and you know.” He tapped my forehead with his fist. “You know, Tenaya. And you can’t ignore that voice. That is the Valley.”
    Fifteen then. I went to chapel services alone in the old Yosemite Chapel. Sunday mornings after sleeping away, hung over from the Camp 4 parties the night before. I thought the services could take away the ghosts.
    I felt the repetition of the Lord’s Prayer, my knees and shins flat on the cold floor. Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. Trespasses universal. Trespasses against the Valley, or my trespasses. But I could not forgive what I had already trespassed. Passed to judgment.
    Dust caked like dry-cracked blood. Flaking. Remembering the petroglyphs I found near Sentinel: two men hunting mammoth and one man following. He who hunts men, the painting of the one who holds human bones.
    • • •
    Lucy came out sick. A Tuesday morning. She didn’t look sick, but then she threw up.
    The crew chief said, “Better get in bed. Take care of that flu.”
    Lucy shook her head, “I feel good now.” And she didn’t look too green. She looked flushed and pretty.
    I watched her. Kept circling back by the water so I could check on her. And the funny thing was, she looked more healthy than anyone else on the crew. She looked beautiful.
    The next morning, she threw up twice. Once, first off, straight out of her tent, then again after breakfast. The crew chief didn’t see either one, and Lucy went to work. Worked all morning.
    I met her by the Porta-Potties. “What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing,” she said.
    “Are you sick?”
    “No,” she said.
    “No?”
    “I mean, I feel fine now,” she said.
    I said, “That’s weird.”
    “Yeah, well, we better get back to work.”
    In the afternoon, Lucy went to pile slash over the slope, and I didn’t see her for the rest of the day. I didn’t like that. I tried not to lose sight of her the next day or the day after, working on the periphery of her circles.
    • • •
    The crew chief came over to me on Friday. He said, “Hey, Tenaya, a word?”
    I waited.
    He said, “Now this is none of my business, none at all, but you know Lucy?”
    I said, “Yes.”
    He pointed. “You know, the only girl here, that one right there?”
    “Yes,” I said.
    “Well,” he said, “she stays up here all weekend with you.”
    “Yeah,” I said. “I know.”
    He put his hand on my shoulder like my father would. “Well, you should seriously think about making a move.”
    “A move?”
    “Come on, son. You haven’t seen her watch you? I mean, you’re a good worker and all, but you’re not worth watching all day.” He pointed to Lucy. “And she keeps you on scout. She