Читаем Los Alamos полностью

But the moment had made the emptiness around them sensual. He was aware of her skin in front of him as they climbed up the mesa trail, her leg stretching to a rock footing, flexing as it pulled the rest of her upward. The heat was tangible now, his body suddenly damp with sweat, and the air was busy with the crunch of their boots on the rocks and the sound of breathing. They climbed through a chimney between tall boulders, the path cluttered with loose rocks and sand and the tough root of a broken bush. When they cleared the top, on a shelf of slickrock, he found himself slightly winded, his heart beating faster. Except for the hint of a little breeze, everything around them still lay inert, but the torpor of the valley heat was gone. He felt alive with movement, his leg muscles straining as they went up another steep stretch. She looked behind her and laughed, leaping goatlike to another rock, daring him to follow. The canteen tied to her belt slapped against her hip. A trickle of sweat ran into his eye. The trail switched back, following a series of cairns he imagined the ranger had made, then rose steadily on packed earth until the great ledges of slickrock began, like sidewalks running around the rim of the mesa.

She waited for him on top, her blouse sticking to her, shading her eyes with her hand as she looked south to the valley floor. From here the ruins below took on the cellular shapes of a blueprint, circles and squares spreading out flat with only their dimensions to suggest buildings. She handed him the canteen. In the landscape nothing moved but shimmering heatwaves rising lazily off the desert. They were the only things alive in the world.

They followed the slickrock around the edge, steps away from steep drops into canyons, but the path was level and broad and they could walk together, moving quickly from the view of one site to another. The strain had left his legs and he was unaware of his steps now, buoyant, sometimes not even sensing the cairn markers. When she stopped suddenly, sticking her hand out in front of him, he almost pitched forward, carried by the unconscious momentum. She stood motionless, not breathing, so that the quiet was its own alarm. He darted his eyes around, not seeing anything on the barren slickrock until she extended a finger, pointing silently toward the edge. Ahead of them, on a ledge a few steps below, he saw the gray gnarled twist of an old juniper branch, nothing more, and then his eyes focused and the branch, sharper now, took on markings of gray and brown in a thick unnatural coil. The rattlesnake stirred slightly, adjusting itself to catch the sun, then settled back on the rock. Connolly stood frozen, feeling his muscles twitch with fear. It was the surprise of it, the unexpected lurking while they paid no attention. He had a city boy’s terror of wildlife; it crept up on you, alert only to its own rules. Frantically he looked around the trail for a rock, even a stick, to defend himself. But the snake lay still, coiled motionless in the sun. Connolly felt the slightest sound would arouse it, but Emma was already drawing him away, stepping carefully from the edge. He almost jumped when he saw it move, a nearly imperceptible tremor along the markings as it began to uncoil. He watched, fascinated as prey, while it sluggishly stretched out its length and glided down off its ledge to a sunnier shelf below, unaware of anyone else in its garden. Emma continued quietly moving away and he followed her, his eyes still on the ledge, expecting the snake to spring back. He was embarrassed by his own fear, but his blood kept jumping.

“Shouldn’t we kill it?” he said when they were farther down the path.

“He won’t bother us now. He lives here, you know.”

“But they’re poisonous.”

She smiled, calming him. “I know. But they don’t come after you unless they’re provoked. The first time I heard a rattle, I nearly died, but he was just telling me to go away. At least they give you fair warning. Not everything does. What they don’t like is being surprised.”

“I guess I don’t either,” he said, catching his breath. “I’ve never seen one before.”

“Maybe you’ll never see another. I’ve only seen two. The horses spot them. But they’re here, you know, they come with the territory.” She put her hand on his arm. “Come on, we’ll go up to the Pueblo Alto. Just be careful where you walk. It’s probably like speeding tickets, you never get two at once.”

But the snake had unsettled him. The limitless space had been exhilarating and now made him feel exposed. What if it hadn’t gone away? He saw himself holding an ankle full of poison, miles from anywhere, any cry for help muted by the wind. He had thought they had got away, that all this bright, uncomplicated space was theirs, and now he saw that he had merely intruded in it, made unsafe by what he couldn’t see.