
The bluff had been cleared of trees, leaving a large open area. There was a graveled turnaround, which Randall circled so that the car pointed back down the track. A couple of oil drums had been cleaned and placed in the clearing to hold garbage, and they showed evidence of heavy use.
“Much better,” Catherine said approvingly.
She and Randall didn’t speak again until they had settled on the edge of the bluff. Below them the bank fell away gently down to the lapping water. The bank was concrete, old and broken in places, allowing the relentless Mississippi weeds to push their heads through the cracks. There was river litter, not human litter, scattered on the concrete-bits of wood and weed.
Catherine sighed. The bank of Arkansas was clear but tiny across the river.
She was content.
This was not like being with any other man. She couldn’t explain to herself how someone so distant and so taken for granted could have switched positions so easily and naturally. She didn’t want to explain, or worry, or wonder; or try to picture how he saw her. She was, for once, quite unselfconscious.
The swift and treacherous current swept a large branch downriver toward New Orleans. They watched it pass. The river spawned big sweeping thoughts that were best shared silently.
“Maybe a barge will go by,” Catherine said, after a time.
When she had been in her teens, a group of them would stand on the bluff and shout to the bargemen, their voices carrying across the river. The bargemen would sometimes sound the deep barge horn in reply.
“It’s better at night,” Randall observed after a peaceful interval.
She remembered. The lights, shining over the dark water until the barge was out of sight around the bend in the river.
“We’ll stay until one comes,” he said.
He inched back on his rear until he was behind Catherine, his legs on either side of her. His thick fingers began to work gently in her hair, separating strands, combing them through. Catherine was catlike in her pleasure, her eyes half closed, delight running down her spine.
