Chapter 26 26

Even though she was thirstier and her arms were still throbbing, she couldn't help dozing off again.She knew that sleeping was dangerous—her strength was running out, and her strength was going to fail—but what difference did it make?She's tried all the options, but she's still America's handcuffed lover.And she wanted to enter that wonderful state of forgetfulness—in fact, she needed it as badly as a junkie desperately needed a drug.Then, just before she fell asleep, an idea as simple as it was startling lit up like a flash in her bewildered, wandering mind. Cream, the bottle of cream on the shelf above the bed.

Don't get your hopes up again, Jesse—this is another terrible mistake.If it didn't fall to the floor when you lifted the shelf, it probably slid somewhere where you had absolutely no chance of catching it.So, don't get your hopes up. The thing is she can't help but generate hope.Because, if the cream was still there, still within her reach, maybe it would provide enough lubrication to free a hand.Maybe two hands, though she didn't think that was necessary.If she can remove one handcuff, she can get out of bed.If she could get out of bed, she thought she would be able to escape successfully.

That's just the little plastic sample jar they sent in the mail, Jesse.It must have slipped to the floor. However it doesn't.Jessie turned her head as far to the left as she could, without sticking her neck out of her knuckles, but saw the dark blue blob at the end of her field of vision. It's not really there.The hideous, doom-spreading part of her whispered.You think it's there, totally understandable, but it's not really there.That's just an illusion, Jesse.You just saw what most of your mind wanted you to see, ordered you to see.But that's not me, I'm a realist.

She looked again, and she pulled a little further to the left despite the pain.The blue mass did not disappear, and became clearer in an instant.Yep, that's the sample jar.On Jesse's side of the bed is a reading lamp.When she raised the shelf, the lamp didn't slide to the floor because its base was fixed to the wood.A paperback book, "Horse Valley," which had been sitting on a shelf since mid-July, slid over against the edge of the lamp base, and the jar of Nivea cream slid over against it.Jessie realizes that it's possible her life could be saved by a lamp and a group of imaginary cavemen.This group has names like Ayala, Voda, Uba and Sonoran.This is so amazing, beyond reality.

Even if it's there, there's no way you'll ever get it.The man who made the bad luck told her.But Jesse hardly heard it.The truth is, she thinks she can get the jar.She was almost sure. Turning her left hand in the handcuffs, she reached slowly up the shelf, moving with extreme caution.Now is the time to make a mistake, push that jar of Nivya cream out of reach on a shelf, or push it back against a wall.For all she knew, there might be a gap between the wall and the shelf through which a sample-sized jar could easily fall.Her brain would explode if that happened.Yes, she'd hear the canister drop out there, among the rat droppings and dust, and her brain would...well, burst.So, she has to be careful, and if she plays it safe, everything will work out because—

Because maybe there's a God who doesn't want me to die in this bed like an animal caught in a leg trap.You stop and think about it, kind of makes sense.When the dog started eating Jerrod, I picked up the little jar from the shelf.Later I saw that it was too light in size, even if I could hit the dog with it, it would not hurt it.In that situation—nausea, bewilderment, delirious fright—the most natural thing to do is to throw it away and search for something heavier on the shelf.Instead of doing that, I put it back on the shelf.Why would I or anyone else do something so illogical?God, that's why.That's the only reason I can think of, the only proper one.God kept it for me because he knew I would need it.

She ran her handcuffed hands along the board, trying to spread her fingers to form antennas like radar parabolas.There must be no room for error, and she understood that.God, fate, providence aside, this was almost certainly her best and last chance.As her fingers touched the smooth, curved surface of the canister, she remembered a chanted Negro sentimental folk song, a little song from the Dust Bowl, perhaps composed by Wodie Guterre.She first heard Tom Roush in college. if you want to go to heaven, I can help you think, You need to use some simple fat, paint your feet, out of the hands of the devil,

Walk to the Land of Hope. take it easy, Paint it. She touched the small can with her fingers, and regardless of the creaking of the shoulder muscles, she moved slowly and carefully, and gently moved the small can towards herself.Now she knew how a safe-robber felt when he used nitroglycerin.Relax, she thought, and lube.In all the history of the world has anyone spoken a truer word than this? "I don't think so, honey." She imitated Elizabeth Taylor's pronunciation in "Cat on the Hot Tin Roof" without knowing how to do it.But she couldn't hear herself talking like that, or even realize she was talking.

Already she felt a surge of relief welling up in her heart.It was as luscious as the first sip of fresh, cool water being poured down the rusty, razor-like throat bed.She will slip out of the devil's clutches and go to the land of hope.There is no doubt about it.As long as she slips cautiously.She has been tested, she has been tempered in the fire, and now she will be rewarded, and she would be a fool to doubt that. I think you'd better stop thinking that way.said Mrs. Burlingame in an anxious tone.That'll get you carried away, and I know that very few careless people escape the devil's hand.

Maybe right.But she didn't intend to be careless at all. She spent the past twenty-one hours in hell.No one knew better than she how she had depended on this opportunity with all her might, and no one knew, not at all. "I'm going to play it safe..." Jesse murmured, "I'm going to figure out every step, and I promise to do it. And then I... I'm going to..." What will she do? Heck, of course she lubricates her hands.Not waiting for her to come out of the handcuffs, but starting now, Jesse suddenly heard herself talking to God again.This time she spoke easily and fluently.

I want to make a promise to you, I promise to use the lube right away.I'm going to start off with a mental spring cleaning.I'm going to get rid of all the things that are broken and the toys from my early years that I can no longer play with because I'm grown up - all the things that don't work but take up space, in other words, things that cause fires.I might call Nora Calligan and ask her if she'd like to help.I think it might as well be calling Carol Symonds...of course it's called Carol Rittenhouse these days.If anyone in our gang still knew where Ruth Neary was, it was Carol.Listen to me, Lord - I don't know if anyone ever made it to Promised Land, but I promise to keep lubricating and keep trying, okay? She saw (as if it was almost an approving answer to her prayers) exactly how things were going.Getting the lid off the little jar was the toughest part.It takes patience and great care, but its unusually small size will help it open.She holds the bottom of the can in the palm of her left hand, supports the top with her fingers, and does the actual work of opening the lid with her thumb.It would be easier if the cover was loose, but she was sure she could get it off anyway. You're fucking right, I can get it off.Jesse thought seriously. Perhaps the most dangerous moment will come when the lid does start to turn.If something happened suddenly and she wasn't ready, the jar might burst out of her hand.Jesse grinned. "No way," she said to the empty room, "no bloody way, my dear." Jesse lifted the can and stared at it.It's hard to see the contents through the translucent blue plastic casing, but the container looks like it's at least half full, maybe more, and once the lid comes off, she'll tip the jar over to her hands, letting the sticky The things flowed out and flowed into the palm of her hand.When she's got as much cream as she can, tilt her hand so it's vertical, letting the cream run down her wrist.Most of the cream would pool between her muscles and the handcuffs.She would spread the cream by turning her wrist back and forth.Anyway, she already knew where the key part was: the one just under the thumb.When she's lubricated her hand as best she can, she'll pull it out with a last-ditch relentless effort.She could endure all the pain and kept pulling until her hands came out of the handcuffs and finally she was free.Free at last, O Great and Almighty God, free at last.she can do it.She knows she can. "But, you have to be careful." She murmured to herself.She let the bottom of the can rest on her palm, twisted her thumb and forefinger around the lid, and— "It's loose!" she cried hoarsely, her voice trembling, "Oh, my dear, it's really loose!" She couldn't believe it—and the doommaker somewhere deep in the corner refused to believe it—but it was true.As she gently ran her fingertips up and down the jar, she could feel the lid loosen slightly in its spiral groove. Be careful, Jesse—oh, be very careful, just be careful in the way you understand it. Yes, in her mind at the moment, she saw something else—she saw herself sitting at her table at home in Portland, in her best black dress, the stylish short dress she had worn last spring for Bought it for myself as a present for her sticking to the diet and losing ten pounds.Her hair, freshly washed and smelling of herbal shampoo instead of sour sweat, was held in a simple blonde barrette.The afternoon sun streamed in friendly from the dome window onto the table, and she saw herself writing a letter to the Nivea Corporation of America, or to whoever made Nivea creams.Dear sir, she will write like this, I must let you know that your product is really a life saver... She put pressure on the lid with her thumb, and it began to turn smoothly, without any hesitation, just as planned. Like a dream, thank you, God.Thank you very much.Thank you very much, non- Suddenly something moved out of the corner of her eye, and her first thought was not that someone had found her and she was saved, but that the space cowboy was back and wanted to catch her before she escaped.Jessie let out a shrill cry, her eyes quickly shifted away from her eager focus on the jar, her fingers twitching involuntarily in fear and surprise. It was the dog, coming in for his late morning snack, and he was standing in the hall, checking the bedroom before he came in.At the same moment Jessie realized it was a dog, she also realized that she had squeezed the little blue jar too tightly.It was about to shoot from between her fingers like a freshly peeled grape. "No!" She hastened to grab it, and was almost on the verge of regaining the position she had grabbed.Then it tumbled out of her hand, hit her hip, and bounced off the bed.The jar made a soft, leathery thud as it hit the wooden floor.Less than three minutes ago, she believed, it was the sound that was driving her mad.But it didn't drive her crazy.She now discovered a new and deeper fear: that despite all that had happened to her, she was far from mad.For her, now that the last door of escape was barred, whatever horror lay ahead of her, she had to face it with sanity. "Why do you have to come in now, you beast?" she asked the ex-prince.There was something in her irritated, bored voice that made the dog stop and look at her defensively, and all her screams and threats failed to arouse it. "Why now? You should kill, why now?" The Dingo decided that, although there was now a poignant element in the fierce master's voice, she might still be unable to hurt him.However, he still watched her warily as he trotted towards his food.Safety comes first.In getting this simple lesson, it suffered a lot.It's a lesson it won't forget easily or quickly - safety always comes first. Its bright eyes gave her one last desperate look, then lowered its head, took hold of one of Gerald's testicles, and tore a chunk out.Really bad to see this.But for Jesse, that wasn't the worst thing.Worst of all, when the dogs bite and tear, a swarm of flies bursts from their breeding grounds.Their hypnotic humming accomplished the task of destroying the vital part of her that wanted to live, the part associated with hope and confidence. The dog backed away gracefully like a dancer in a musical.It poked out its sensitive ears, and with the piece of meat hanging from its chin, it turned and trotted out of the room quickly.Before the dogs were even out of sight, the flies were on the move to relocate.Jesse rested his head back on the mahogany rung and closed his eyes.She prayed again.But this time she wasn't praying for escape.She prayed that God would mercifully end her life quickly before the sun went down and the pale stranger returned.