So began a faltering march, the two of them stumbling over broken ground, harried along by the dragon’s rumbles, herded from the former site of Teocinte, past the rise and out onto a vast plain of yellowish green thickets and sugarloaf hills, crisscrossed by animal tracks. On occasion the dragon bulled ahead of them to divert their course, flattening wide swaths of vegetation. The heat grew almost unbearable and George’s grip on reality frayed to the point that once, when they stopped to rest and the dragon urged them on with a roar, he sprang to his feet and shouted at the beast. After what must have been several hours of sweat and torment, they reached a spot where a stream widened into a clear pool some eighty or ninety feet across at the widest, flowing into other, smaller ponds and fringed by towering sabal palms, hedged by lesser trees and bushes, a cool green complexity amid the desert of thorny bushes and prickly weeds. There the dragon abandoned them, belching out a final cautionary (thus George characterized it) roar and soaring up into the sky until it once again appeared no bigger than a hawk and vanished into a cloud, leaving them exhausted and stunned, relieved yet despairing. They bathed in the largest pool and felt somewhat refreshed. As night fell, George picked shriveled oranges from a tree beside the pool and they made a meal of nuts and fruit. Shortly thereafter, too fatigued to talk, they fell asleep.
In the morning they had a discussion about returning to the spot to which they had been transported, but the sight of the dragon circling overhead ended that conversation and George began constructing a lean-to from bamboo and vines and palmetto fronds, while Sylvia set herself to catch fish, a task for which she claimed an aptitude. After watching her for half an hour, bent over and motionless in the pool, waiting for the fish to forget her presence and attempting to scoop them up when they swam between her legs, he held out little hope for a fish dinner; but to his amazement, when next he checked in on her he saw that she had caught two medium-sized perch.
That night, with enough of a breeze to keep off the mosquitoes, the two of them reclining on a bed of fronds and banana leaves inside the shelter, gazing at the lacquered reflection of a purple sky so thickly adorned with stars, it might have been a theatrical backdrop, a silk cloth embroidered with sequins . . . that night their predicament was reduced to a shadow in George’s mind by these comforts and a full belly; but it became apparent that Sylvia did not feel so at ease with things, for when he tried to draw her into an embrace, she resisted him vigorously and said, ‘We’re at death’s door and that’s all you can think about?’
‘We’re not at death’s door,’ said George. ‘The dragon was rather solicitous of our welfare. He could have conveyed us to a far more inhospitable spot.’
‘Be that as it may, we’re not exactly sitting pretty.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. One of us is.’ George gave a broad wink, attempting to jolly her with this compliment.
Sylvia returned a withering look.
‘We might as well make the best of things,’ said George.
She sniffed. ‘To my mind, making the best of it would include figuring a way out of this mess.’
‘We had a bargain,’ George said weakly.
‘Back in Teocinte we had a bargain. Here all bets are off.’
‘I don’t see it that way.’
‘Well, I do . . . and I’m in charge of the sweet shop. I don’t have my medicines with me and I won’t risk getting pregnant out here. When we return to Teocinte, I’ll do right by you. Until then you’ll have to take care of your own needs. And I’ll thank you to not do so in my presence.’
A pour of wind rustled the thatched roof of the shelter, carrying a spicy scent. Despite understanding that Sylvia’s reaction was to be expected, George’s feelings were hurt.
‘This is your fault,’ he said glumly.
She sat up, her face pale and simplified by the starlight. ‘What?’
He sketched out Peri Haukkola’s theory concerning the effects of stress on consensus reality.
‘You say I’m ridiculous to blame this on Griaule,’ she said. ‘Then you put forward this Haukkerman as if . . .’
‘Haukkola.’
‘. . . as if it were proof of something. As if because he wrote some stupid theory down, it must be true. And I’m the ridiculous one?’ She gave a sarcastic laugh. ‘You saw the dragon, I assume?’
‘Of course! That’s just more evidence in support of Haukkola. You’re obsessed with Griaule, so you incorporated one of his little friends into your fantasy.’
Dumfounded, Sylvia stared at him. ‘The dragon is Griaule! Didn’t you notice he’s got the same coloring, the same head shape? True, he’s not all nicked up and scarred, and he’s quite a bit smaller. But it’s him, all right.’
‘You can distinguish between lizards?’ He chuckled.
‘I’ve been looking at Griaule most of my life and I can distinguish him.’ She turned onto her side, showing him her back. ‘You and Haukkola! You’re both idiots! If it helps you to blame me, fine. I’m going to sleep.’
