Read Online Right of Thirst by Frank Huyler - Free Book Online Page B

between resenting my comments and acknowledging that perhaps there was some sense to them.
    â€œYou are right, maybe,” she said, finally.
    In the end I helped her carry the bag several hundred yards to an alcove in the side of the valley, close to the base of the cliff and concealed from the camp. The earth beneath our feet was nearly the consistency of sand, and there were many small gray stones that sparkled in the sun. Some kind of mineral—mica, perhaps—was mixed within them. The alcove was sheltered on three sides from the wind. It was quiet, and almost warm. I was out of breath—the bag was ungainly to carry, with only onehandle, and we had held it awkwardly between us. After a few moments of rest, she set up the tripod, and we hung the bag high from its hook.
    â€œHow long does it take to heat up?” I asked
    â€œTwo hours,” she said. “But it can get too hot. Once I burned myself.”
    She had softened toward me, apparently, because as we walked back toward the camp she said I could use it when she was done.
    â€œThank you,” I said. “That would be nice.”
    A few hours later, after she had come back smiling and clean and flushed, more cheerful, it seemed, than she had been in days, I took her up on the offer.
    Standing in the alcove, it felt very odd to undress and stand naked in the hot sun and the cold air, stuffing my dirty clothes in the plastic bag I’d brought for the purpose. I crouched beneath the bag, under the tripod, in the cold circle of mud from Elise’s shower, adjusted the nozzle, and let the hot water fall on my hair and back, lathering myself thoroughly with liquid soap that smelled of peppermint and tingled and mixed with the swirling gusts of wind that blew a sheen of dust against my legs. I let all the water run out, until the bag above me lightened and began to flap against the poles, and my wet hair squeaked between my fingers. Then, quickly, before I got cold again, I stepped out onto the dry ground, toweled myself dry, and dressed in clean clothes. Walking back toward the camp, I felt as though I was beginning to wake up at last.

CHAPTER TEN
    I asked Captain Rai to direct me to the pallet of medical supplies. Earlier he had deflected me—let us wait until the tents are up before we open the tarps—but the tents would not be ready for days. He sighed and reached for the manifest on the table before him.
    â€œThere is no hurry, Doctor,” he said. “There is plenty of time.”
    â€œIt’s hard to sit around doing nothing,” I replied. “I’d like to get started.”
    It was too cold to rain, and the pile of provisions and equipment had been left out in the open, dropped in slings by the Russian pilots conveniently close to the dining tent. The pallets themselves all looked alike, and were numbered—twelve heavy burlap bags, wrapped tight in blue plastic sheeting and strapped to a crude platform of soft yellow wood.
    Rai paced around the pile, consulting his manifest, before he found it. The pallet weighed at least a thousand pounds, and I stared at it helplessly for a few moments.
    â€œWe’ll need to set up a tent for the clinic,” I said, finally. “Then we can see what we have.”
    â€œOkay,” he said, and began walking purposefully out toward the line of tents in the field, where the village men had gathered once again.
    Rai returned with four men. They walked behind him, the heavy canvas tent rolled in a line on their shoulders. Rai himself carried nothing at all—not so much, I suspected, because of personal unwillingness, but rather for the message it might send. There are those who carry loads, and there are those who do not. I’d chosen a spot perhaps twenty-five yards from the dining tent.
    â€œIs this where you would like it, Doctor?” he said, formally.
    â€œYes,” I replied. “Thank you.”
    He nodded imperiously at the men, pointed