Hole in the Sky by Pete Hautman

Author:Pete Hautman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers
Published: 2005-07-27T16:00:00+00:00

As we near the great limestone cliff called the Redwall, Ceej suddenly collapses, unconscious. I think that the pain has been worse than we knew. Tim and I make him as comfortable as we can, and I unwrap his poultice, expecting the worst.

The foot is ugly, but there is no infection, and when I pinch his little toe he groans and pulls his foot away.

“He will be fine,” I tell Tim.

“What do you mean? Look at him!” Tim is angry. In that moment, he thinks that he is mad at me. I accept his anger without striking back. He has to put it someplace.

Ceej comes around in a few minutes and demands to know what happened.

“You passed out,” Tim tells him.

Ceej tries to stand up, but I won’t let him.

“You must let me wrap your ankle,” I say. “And we must rest a while.”

Ceej is furious and embarrassed, but he lets me minister to him. I make a fresh poultice using redbud leaves, and a paste of pounded juniper berries and yellow earth. My small pouch of the powdered yellow-orange clay is almost gone.

“What is that stuff?” Ceej asks.

“It is a special clay gathered by my grandfather at the Sipapuni. It will help draw the poison from your wound” I wrap the poultice with fibrous strips from a nearby yucca plant. “Grandfather used it for bee stings. It has great power.”

Tim makes a snorting sound. He shoulders his pack. “I’m gonna take a look up ahead,” he says, and moves up the trail.

I stretch Ceej’s sock back over his foot to hold the poultice together. When I look up, he is staring at me. His eyes are the color of mesquite heartwood: a brown that is almost black, but with a hint of fire.

“Thank you,” he says.

I look away. I am embarrassed, but I do not know why. I feel his hand touch my knee. I don’t move; I don’t breathe.

He says, “What did your parents call you?”

“My name is Isabella.”

“I mean at home. Like, my real name is Charles Jacob Kane, but everybody calls me Ceej. For C. J. Did your folks call you Isabella?”

“My mother did.” I feel something inside crumbling. “But Daddy called me Bella.”

I see Ceej’s hand coming to my face, and he touches the corner of my eyes, and his fingers are wet with tears.

“Bella,” he says, touching my tears to his cheek. Our eyes meet and the crumbling inside me becomes something else. I want to fall into him, but I turn away, suddenly afraid, and we sit in silence.

A few minutes later, Tim returns.

“There’s a spring up ahead,” he says. “Fresh water.”

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