the first treatment for a burn is cold water?
that it draws out the heat? but she means minor burns. prob-
ably she鈥檇 recommend it for my hands. but what of my calf?
although i have not yet had the courage to examine it, i鈥檓
guessing that it鈥檚 an injury in a whole different class.
i lie on my stomach at edge of the pool for a while, dangling
my hands in the water, examining the little flames on my fin-
gernails that are beginning to chip off. good. i鈥檝e had enough
fire for a lifetime.
i bathe the blood and ash from my face. i try to recall all i
know about burns. they are common injuries in the seam
where we cook and heat our homes with coal. then there are
the mine accidents. . . . a family once brought in an uncons-
cious young man pleading with my mother to help him. the
district doctor who鈥檚 responsible for treating the miners had
written him off, told the family to take him home to die. but
they wouldn鈥檛 accept this. he lay on our kitchen table, sense-
less to the world. i got a glimpse of the wound on his thigh,
gaping, charred flesh, burned clear down to the bone, before i
ran from the house. i went to the woods and hunted the entire
day, haunted by the gruesome leg, memories of my father鈥檚
death. what鈥檚 funny was, prim, who鈥檚 scared of her own sha-
dow, stayed and helped. my mother says healers are born, not
made. they did their best, but the man died, just like the doc-
tor said he would.
my leg is in need of attention, but i still can鈥檛 look at it.
what if it鈥檚 as bad as the man鈥檚 and i can see my bone? then i
remember my mother saying that if a burn鈥檚 severe, the victim
177
might not even feel pain because the nerves would be de-
stroyed. encouraged by this, i sit up and swing my leg in front
of me.
i almost faint at the sight of my calf. the flesh is a brilliant
red covered with blisters. i force myself to take deep, slow
breaths, feeling quite certain the cameras are on my face. i
can鈥檛 show weakness at this injury. not if i want help. pity
does not get you aid. admiration at your refusal to give in
does. i cut the remains of the pant leg off at the knee and ex-
amine the injury more closely. the burned area is about the
size of my hand. none of the skin is blackened. i think it鈥檚 not
too bad to soak. gingerly i stretch out my leg into the pool,
propping the heel of my boot on a rock so the leather doesn鈥檛
get too sodden, and sigh, because this does offer some relief. i
know there are herbs, if i could find them, that would speed
the healing, but i can鈥檛 quite call them to mind. water and time
will probably be all i have to work with.
should i be moving on? the smoke is slowly clearing but
still too heavy to be healthy. if i do continue away from the
fire, won鈥檛 i be walking straight into the weapons of the ca-
reers? besides, every time i lift my leg from the water, the
pain rebounds so intensely i have to slide it back in. my hands
are slightly less demanding. they can handle small breaks
from the pool. so i slowly put my gear back in order. first i fill
my bottle with the pool water, treat it, and when enough time
has passed, begin to rehydrate my body. after a time, i force
myself to nibble on a cracker, which helps settle my stomach. i
roll up my sleeping bag. except for a few black marks, it鈥檚 rela-
178
tively unscathed. my jacket鈥檚 another matter. stinking and
scorched, at least a foot of the back beyond repair. i cut off the
damaged area leaving me with a garment that comes just to
the bottom of my ribs. but the hood鈥檚 intact and it鈥檚 far better
than nothing.
despite the pain, drowsiness begins to take over. i鈥檇 take to
a tree and try to rest, except i鈥檇 be too easy to spot. besides,
abandoning my pool seems impossible. i neatly arrange my
supplies, even settle my pack on my shoulders, but i can鈥檛
seem to leave. i spot some water plants with edible roots and
make a small meal with my last piece of rabbit. sip water.
watch the sun make its slow arc across the sky. where would
i go anyway that is any safer than here?
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