Adam & Eve by Sena Jeter Naslund

Author:Sena Jeter Naslund
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fiction, Man-woman relationships, Iraq, Creation, Antiquities, Anthropologists, Literary, General, Suspense, Soldiers - United States, Suspense fiction, Widows
ISBN: 9780061579271
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2010-09-28T15:24:53.347000+00:00

THE AMERICAN PATIENT

AT THE MOMENT when F. Riley opened his eyes, I was looking at his face. I was not contemplating his closed lids but the set of his jaw, bound shut with strips of orange fabric from the parachute. He had a jutting chin, a fortuitous happenstance because its size had made the binding easier to secure. I worried, though, that the back edge of the binding might be pressing too closely against the patient’s larynx. Just as I was about to test the tightness of the bandage with the tip of my finger, I noticed the slow, theatrical rising of his eyelids.

Trying to draw him to consciousness, I shifted my eyes to look steadily into his unfocused gaze. When I smiled a little, he made a quick, surprised sound, like a yelp.

“You’ll be all right,” I soothed, repeating my litany of reassurance. I reached for one of his hands and held it in both of mine. It was a large and knobby hand. “You’ll be all right.” Dulled by the fragrance of redwoods, was I hypnotically crooning to myself or to the patient? I took his hand to my lips and kissed the back of it, noticing the red-gold hairs curling sparsely from its paleness. While holding his gaze, I registered the color of his eyes for the first time—a striking reddish brown. Yes, I had occasionally seen such eyes of people with dark red hair.

The soldier gave his little yelp again, but this time it resembled the question Why? and so I quietly explained that my friend Adam and I had seen his plane go down, and his parachute open. Adam had climbed up through the trees and brought him down.

“Your jaw was dislocated and broken, too, so we’ve immobilized it.” I watched him watching my lips forming the words. Without thinking, I brushed my own lips with my fingertips, and then I reached out and touched his lips. His eyes now seemed focused, comprehending. “Your ankle was broken, too.”

Tightening his muscles, he lifted his neck and his foot to inspect the splint. Without doubt, he understood my words and their import. Carefully, he lowered his head and closed his eyes for a moment as though the effort had caused him pain.

I said gently, “You’re bruised, of course. Probably better just to lie still.”

He made a sound in his throat that sounded affirmative. As he drew in rapid breaths, I watched the stenciled name on his shirt pocket—“F. Riley”— rise and fall. Gradually he resumed breathing in a more normal fashion. Slowly he opened his eyes again, and I saw the question in them.

“This is real,” I said. “You’re not dreaming.” An unspoken explanation was gathering in my own mind: This place is where we come for peace and healing. Pieces of the past are here—gardens and trees. We call it Eden. Instead, sensible words passed from me to him. “You’re going to be all right, but you’re hurt.”

His gaze shifted to my naked breasts.

Instead of replying, I withdrew my hand from his and crossed both arms modestly over my nakedness.

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