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But hadn’t Carmella lost three loved ones, counting the cook-her one and only child among them? How could Da
“Where are they?” Carmella asked, as they drove into Errol.
“Where are what?” Da
“Where are Gamba’s remains-his ashes?” Carmella asked.
“In a nonbreakable container, a jar-it’s a kind of plastic, not glass,” Da
“In your luggage, in the trunk of the car?” Carmella asked him.
“Yes.” Da
“I’ll see you bright and early Tuesday,” the old logger had said.
“What’s ‘bright and early’?” Da
“Before seven, at the latest,” Ketchum said.
“Before eight, if we’re lucky,” Da
From what Da
“Let’s have a look inside,” Da
“Just so long as it’s before dark!” she said again. Carmella had been one of the earliest erotic stimulations of his life. How could she have become such a repetitious old woman? Da
They both regarded the sign on the door of the sporting-goods store with trepidation.
PLEASE NO LOADED FIREARMS INSIDE
“My goodness,” Carmella said; they hesitated, albeit briefly, at the door.
L. L. Cote sold snowmobiles and all-terrain vehicles; inside there were dead stuffed animals, the regional species, enough to suggest that the local taxidermist was kept busy. (Bear, deer, lynx, fox, fisher cat, moose, porcupine, skunk-a host of “critters,” Ketchum would have said-in addition to all the ducks and the birds of prey.) There were more guns than any other single item; Carmella recoiled from such a display of lethal weaponry. A large selection of Browning knives caused Da
“So that the hunters don’t smell like people,” Da
“My goodness,” Carmella said.
“Can I help you folks?” an old man asked them suspiciously.
He was an unlikely-looking salesman, with a Browning knife on his belt and a portly appearance. His belly hung over his belt buckle, and his red-and-black fla
“I could use some directions, maybe,” Da
“It ain’t called that no more-not for a long time,” the salesman said, his suspicion deepening.
“I was told it’s off the road to Akers Pond-” Da
“It is, but it ain’t called Lost Nation-almost nobody calls it that, not nowadays.”
“Does the road have a new name, then?” Da
The salesman was eyeing Carmella disagreeably. “It don’t have a name-there’s just a sign that says somethin’ about small engine repairs. It’s the first thing you come to, off Akers Pond Road -you can’t miss it,” the old man said, but not encouragingly.
“Well, I’m sure we’ll find it,” Da
“Who are you lookin’ for?” the salesman asked, still staring at Carmella.
“Mr. Ketchum,” Carmella answered.
“Ketchum would call it Lost Nation Road!” the salesman said emphatically, as if that settled everything that was wrong with the name. “Is Ketchum expectin’ you?” the old man asked Da
“Yes, actually, he is, but not until tomorrow morning,” Da
“I wouldn’t pay a visit to Ketchum if he wasn’t expectin’ me,” the salesman said. “Not if I was you.”
“Thank you again,” Da
“Only an Injun would call it Lost Nation Road,” he said. “That proves it!”
“Proves what?” Da
“Ha!” the salesman scoffed. “Half-breeds are Injuns!”
Da
“I suppose Ketchum shops here, from time to time-doesn’t he?” Da
“His money’s as good as anybody’s, isn’t it?” the salesman said sourly.
“I’ll tell him you said so,” Da
“Is Mr. Ketchum an Indian?” she asked Da
“I don’t know-maybe partly,” Da
“My goodness-I’ve never seen a bearded Indian,” Carmella said. “Not in the movies, anyway.”
THEY DROVE WEST OUT OF TOWN on Route 26. There was something called the Errol Cream Barrel & Chuck Wagon, and what appeared to be an immaculately well-kept campground and trailer park called Saw Dust Alley. They passed the Umbagog Snowmobile Association, too. That seemed to be about it for Errol. Da
A moment later, just as it was growing dark, they drove alongside a field encircled by a high fence. Naturally, Carmella read the sign on the fence out loud. “‘Please Do Not Harass the Buffalo ’-well, my goodness, who would do such a thing?” she said, indignant as ever. But they saw no buffalo-only the fence and the sign.
The resort hotel in Dixville Notch was called The Balsams-for hikers and golfers in the warm-weather months, Da