In the Kingdom of Men by Kim Barnes

Author:Kim Barnes [Barnes, Kim]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-0-307-95837-2
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2012-05-28T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

The sound of the doorbell jolted me awake. Mason groaned, shoveled the covers over his head. I lay still for a moment, waiting for Yash’s voice before remembering he had the day off.

I pulled on my robe and stumbled down the hall. When I cracked open the door, wary of who I might find, I saw Lucky, shiny and chipper as though he hadn’t just left our table hours before. Behind him, Ruthie waved from the backseat of the Volkswagen.

“Hot as a popcorn fart,” Lucky said. He snapped his lighter, sucked a cigarette to life. “Good day as any for a picnic.”

Mason came in, still buttoning his shirt. “Mornings sure come early around here,” he said.

“Waking up is what lets you know you’re still alive,” Lucky said. “Thought we could do some exploring, maybe visit spike camp, show you a thing or two. We got the sadiqi juice, but the girls might want something to cut it.”

I looked at Mason, who ran his fingers through his hair. “Guess we got to do something,” he said.

I ran to change my clothes, then poured a canteeen of water and a jar of the fresh lemonade Yash had left in the Frigidaire, slammed a few cheese sandwiches together, and grabbed a jar of pickles. I followed the men to the little car, a goatskin bag of emergency water hanging from the passenger door, dropped my purse and camera behind the rear seat, and squeezed in next to Ruthie. Mason positioned our lunch in the forward trunk, then squinted into the sharp glare of the sun.

“We’re going to swap some sweat today,” Lucky said. When we reached the gate, he saluted Habib without stopping.

“Better tell him where we’re going,” Mason said.

“Where we going?” Lucky lipped his cigarette. “We’re wildcatters, ain’t we? Bird-doggin’. Just following our nose.”

The stinging wind that whipped through the windows was no relief from the heat. I had gathered my hair beneath one of Mason’s cotton handkerchiefs, and still the strands pulled free. We followed the asphalt a few miles northeast toward Dhahran before forking left onto a packed sand road. Within minutes, the Volkswagen was the sole object in sight. Only flares broke the horizon, and soon they, too, were gone. A few outcroppings of dark rock, clumps of camel brush, long stretches of cracked sand flats flanked by hilly jabals. When the road gave way to meandering drifts that snaked away in front of us, Lucky got out and scouted a thin line of oil.

“Tanker leaks the valve just a smidge, leaves a nice little trail for us to follow,” he said, and unscrewed a flask, took a long swallow and then another. I saw the way Mason watched him, the wary cast of his eyes.

The deeper we got into the desert, the deeper the sand. Even with the big tires, we bogged. Every mile or so, the men piled out and pushed while Ruthie steered us clear. The oil marker disappeared, then appeared again as the sand whisked one direction and then the other.

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