The Foreign Service Journal, July-August 2004

into the water, several clanging in the bottom of the canoe. The four swans scattered. Mal-ku’s head rose above the water, nose pointed skyward. “That damned cat of yours finally jumped.” On the shore, in a cloud of blue gun smoke, stood Bobby from across the creek. “He’d a-been drowned long afore you got there,” Bobby yelled. “Those swans are the meanest damn birds I know.” Bobby turned and walked back toward his house. Mal-ku clawed onto a branch hanging into the water. Campbell picked up a piece of spent shot from the bot- tom of the canoe, rolled it between his fingers, and began to paddle toward the cat. “Thanks,” he mouthed to Bobby’s back. The cat scrambled up to the trunk of the tree and ran to his barn. He was sodden and scrawny. Campbell turned back and finally noticed the 40-degree salt water that soaked his pajama legs and burned his shell- cut feet. H e dragged the boat to shore. The phone was ring- ing again, or maybe, still. Campbell looked at his watch: Sunday, 7:33. He picked up the phone and words started to pour out. “Praise God you’re home, Mr. Campbell, you gotta get up here as fast as you can!” It was Mae. “Miss Rose done gone completely wild. She’s been runnin’ all round the house for the last 30 minutes. She’s tearing things off the wall and throwin’ them on the floor.” “How?” Campbell asked. “I mean …” “Mr. Campbell, she’s got the strength of Samson. Big Jimmie had to grab her like a bear. He’s sittin’ in the chair holdin’ her on his lap now, an’ she’s just pounding his legs. We needs you.” “I’m on my way,” Campbell said. “Call Doc Willoughby.” “We have,” Mae said. Campbell washed the mud from his legs, put on some pants and soft, thick socks, and started the 20- minute drive to Pine Hill. Mae had spent most of her life F O C U S J U LY- A U G U S T 2 0 0 4 / F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L 41