. if he hadn’t known Max when he was a skinny little geek in college, back when they were roommates and Bartholemew served as bodyguard4 in return for private tutorials in chemistry and physics.
He’d driven to Boston that night with a hank of Trixie Stone’s hair on the seat beside him. The salon5, Live and Let Dye, hadn’t even sent the sample in to Locks of Love yet; it had been languishing6 in a drawer in the back room near the peroxide and the paraffin wax. Now he was sitting on top of a counter, waiting for Max to tell him something useful.
The lab was piled with boxes of dust and hair and fiber for comparison. A poster of Max’s hero, Edmond Locard, hung over his polarized-light microscope. Bartholemew could remember Max reading books about Locard, the father of forensic science, even back at U Maine. “He burned off his fingerprints,” Max had told him once with admiration7, “just to see if they grew back in the same patterns!” It had been almost thirty years since they’d graduated, but Max looked the same. Balder, but still skinny, with a permanent curve to his back that came from bending over a microscope. “Huh,” he said.
“What’s that mean?” Max pushed back from his workspace. “What do you know about hair?” Bartholemew grinned at the other man’s gleaming pate9. “More than you do.” “Hair’s got three layers that are important, in terms of forensics,” Max said, ignoring his comment. “The cortex, the cuticle10, and the medulla. If you think of a piece of hair as a pencil, the medulla is the graphite, the cortex is the wood, and the paint on the outside is the cuticle. The medulla is sometimes in pieces and differs from hair to hair on the same human head.
The cells in the cortex have pigment11, which is pretty much what I’m trying to match up between your two samples. You with me so far?” Bartholemew nodded.
“I can tell you, by looking at a hair, if it’s human or not. I can tell you if it came from someone of Caucasian, Negroid, or Mongolian origin. I can tell you where it came from on the body and whether the hair was forcibly removed or burned or crushed. I can tell you that a hair excludes a suspect, but I can’t use it to pinpoint12 a particular one.” He spoke13 as he bent14 over the microscope again. “What I’m seeing in both samples is a moderate shaft15 diameter and diameter variation, medulla continuous and relatively16 narrow, soft texture17.
That means they’re both hairs from a human head. The hue18, value, and intensity19 of the color are nearly identical. The tip of your known sample was cut with a pair of scissors; the other still has a root attached, which is soft and distorted . . . telling me it was yanked out. Pigment varies a bit between the two samples, although not enough for me to draw any conclusion. However, the cortex of the hair you found on the victim’s body is much more prominent than the hairs in the known sample.” “The known sample came from a haircut three weeks before the murder,” Bartholemew said. “Isn’t it possible that during those three weeks, the cortex got more . . . what did you say again?” “Prominent,” Max answered. “Yeah, it’s possible, especially if the suspect had some kind of chemical hair treatment or was excessively exposed to sunlight or wind. Theoretically, it’s also possible for two hairs from the same human head to just plain look different. But there’s also the chance, here, that you’re talking about two different heads.” He looked at Bartholemew. “If you asked me to get up in front of a jury, I couldn’t tell them conclusively20 that these two hairs came from the same person.” Bartholemew felt like he’d been punched in the chest. He’d been so certain that he’d been on the right track here, that Trixie Stone’s disappearance21 flagged her involvement in the murder of Jason Underhill.
“Hey,” Max said, looking at his face. “I don’t admit this to many people, but microscopy’s not always an exact science. Even when I think I do see a match, I tell detectives to get a DNA22 analysis to back up what the scope says.” Mike sighed. “I have a root on only one of the hairs. That rules out DNA.” “It rules out nuclear DNA,” Max corrected. He leaned over and took a card out of his desk. He scribbled23 something on the back and handed it to Bartholemew. “Skip’s a friend of mine, at a private lab in Virginia. Make sure you say I sent you.” Bartholemew took the card. SKIPPER JOHANSSEN, he read.
GENETTA LABS. MITOCHONDRIAL DNA.
By the time the storm blew in, Trixie had already lost feeling in her toes. She was nearly catatonic, lulled24 by the cold and the exhaust of the snow machine. At the first strike of ice against her cheek, Trixie blinked back to awareness25. They were still somewhere on the river - the scenery looked no different than it had an hour ago, except that the lights in the sky had vanished, washed over by gray clouds that touched down at the line of the horizon.
Snow howled. Visibility grew even worse. Trixie began to imagine that she had fallen into one of her father’s comic book panels, one filled with Kirby crackle - the burst of white bubbles that Jack27 Kirby, a penciler from years ago, had invented to show an energy field. The shapes in the darkness turned into villains28 from her father’s art - twisted trees became the clawed arms of a witch; icicles were the bared fangs30 of a demon31.
Willie slowed the snow machine to a crawl and then stopped it altogether. He shouted to Trixie over the roar of the wind. “We have to wait this out. It’ll clear up by morning.” Trixie wanted to answer him, but she’d spent so long clenching32 her jaw33 shut that she couldn’t pry34 it open wide enough for a word.
Willie moved to the back of the machine, rummaging35 around. He handed her a blue tarp. “Tuck this under the treads,” he said. “We can use it to get out of the wind.” He left her to her own devices and disappeared into the whorls of snow. Trixie wanted to cry. She was so cold that she couldn’t even classify it as cold anymore; she had no idea what he meant by treads, and she wanted to go home. She clutched the tarp against her parka, not moving, wishing that Willie would come back.
She saw him moving in and out of the beam cast by the snow machine’s headlight. He seemed to be snapping off the branches of a dead tree next to the riverbank. When he saw her still sitting on the snow machine, he walked up to her. She expected him to scream about not pulling her weight, but instead his mouth tightened37 and he helped her off. “Get under here,” he said, and he had her sit with her back to the snow machine before he wrapped it in the tarp and pulled it over her, an awning38 to cut the wind.
It wasn’t perfect. There were three large slits39 in the tarp, and the snow and ice unerringly found those gashes40. Willie crouched42 down at Trixie’s feet and peeled some of the bark off the birch branches he’d gathered, tucking it between lengths of cottonwood and alder8. He poured a little gas from the snow machine on top of the pile and ignited it with a lighter43 from his pocket.
Only when she could feel the fire against her skin did she let herself wonder how cold it might be out here.
Trixie remembered learning that the human body was, like, sixty percent water. How many degrees below zero did it have to get before you literally44 froze to death? “Come on,” Willie said. “Let’s get some grass.” The last thing Trixie wanted to do right now was smoke weed.
She tried to shake her head, but even that set of muscles had stopped working. When she didn’t get up, he turned away, as if she wasn’t even worth bothering with. “Wait,” she said, and although he didn’t look at her, he stopped moving. She wanted to explain how her feet felt like blocks and her fingers stung so bad that she had to keep biting down on her lower lip. She wanted to tell him how her shoulders hurt from trying not to shiver. She wanted to tell him she was scared and that when she imagined running away, this hadn’t entered into it. “I c-can’t move,” Trixie said.
Willie knelt beside her. “What can’t you feel?” She didn’t know how to answer that. Comfort? Safety? He began unlacing Trixie’s boots. Matter-of-factly, he cupped his hands around one of her feet. “I don’t have a sleeping bag. I let my cousin Ernie take it, he’s one of the mushers, and the officials check to see if you have one before you start the race.” Then, just when Trixie could move her toes again, just as a searing burn shot from her nails to the arch of her foot, Willie stood up and left.
He came back a few minutes later with an armful of dead grass.
It was still dusted with snow; Willie had dug it out from the edge of the riverbank. He packed the grass in Trixie’s boots and mittens45. He told her to stuff some under her parka.
“How long will it snow?” Trixie asked.
Willie shrugged46.
“How come you don’t talk?” Willie rocked back on his heels, his boots crunching47 in the snow. “How come you think you have to talk to say something?” He pulled off his mittens and toasted his hands over the fire.
“You’ve got frostnip.” “What’s that?” “Frostbite, before it happens.” Trixie tried to remember what she knew about frostbite. Didn’t the affected48 body part turn black and fall off? “Where?” she panicked.
“Between your eyes. On your cheek.” Her face was going to fall off? Willie gestured, almost delicately, in a way that let her know he wanted to move closer to her, to place his hand on her. It was at that moment that Trixie realized she was in the company of a boy who was stronger than she was, in the middle of nowhere, a good twentyfive miles away from anyone who’d hear her scream. She leaned away from him, shaking her head, as her throat closed like a rose after dark.
His fingers caught her at the wrist, and Trixie’s heart started hammering harder. She closed her eyes, expecting the worst, thinking that maybe if you’d lived a nightmare once it wasn’t quite as bad the second time around.
Willie’s palm, hot as a stone in the sun, pressed against her cheek. She felt his other hand touch her forehead, then sweep down the side of her face to cup her jaw.
She could feel calluses on his skin, and she wondered where they’d come from. Trixie opened her eyes and, for the first time since she’d met him, found Willie Moses looking right at her.
Skipper Johanssen, the mitochondrial DNA expert, was a woman.
Bartholemew watched her pour sugar into her coffee and look over the notes on the case that he’d brought. “Unusual name,” he said.
“Mom had a Barbie thing going on.” She was beautiful: straight platinum49 hair that swept the middle of her back, green eyes hidden behind her thick-framed black glasses. When she read, sometimes her mouth formed the words.
“What do you know about mitochondrial DNA?” she asked.
“That you can hopefully use it to compare two hairs?” “Well, yeah, you can. The real question is what you want to do with that comparison.” Skipper leaned back in her chair. “Thanks to C.S.I., everyone’s heard about DNA analysis. Most of the time they’re talking about nuclear DNA, the kind that comes, in equal halves, from your mother and your father. But there’s another kind of DNA that’s the up-and-comer in the forensic community - mitochondrial DNA. And even though you may not know a lot about it, you - and the rest of the world - know the largest case in history where it was used: 9/11.” “To identify the remains52?” “Exactly,” Skipper said. “Traditional efforts didn’t work . . .
they couldn’t find intact teeth, or bones that weren’t crushed, or even anything to X-ray. But mtDNA can be used to profile samples that have been burned, pulverized53, you name it. All scientists need is a saliva54 sample from a family member of the deceased in order to make a comparison.” She picked up the hair sample that Max had scrutinized55 under a microscope the previous day. “The reason we can test this for DNA without a root attached is that a cell isn’t made up of just a nucleus56. There are many more parts - including the mitochondria, which are basically the powerhouses that keep the cell functional57. There are hundreds of mitochondria in a cell, as compared to a single nucleus. And each mitochondrion contains several copies of the mtDNA we’re interested in.” “If there’s so much more mtDNA than nuclear DNA, why isn’t it used all the time for criminal profiling?” Bartholemew asked.
“Well, there’s a catch. Typically, when you get a nuclear DNA profile, the chances of finding another person with that profile are one in six billion. Mitochondrial DNA stats are far less discriminating58, because unlike nuclear DNA, you inherit mtDNA only from your mom. That means that you and your brothers and sisters all have the same mtDNA she does ... and that her mom and siblings59 do, and so on. It’s actually fascinating - a female egg cell possesses tons of mitochondria, as compared to the sperm60 cell. At fertilization, not only are the few sperm mitochondria totally outnumbered, they’re actually destroyed.” Skipper smiled brightly.
“Natural selection at its finest.” “It’s a pity you have to keep us around for that whole fertilization thing in the first place,” Bartholemew said dryly.
“Ah, but you should see what’s going on next door to me in the cloning lab,” Skipper replied. “Anyway, my point is that mtDNA isn’t helpful if you’re choosing between two biological siblings to pinpoint a suspect, but it’s a nice tool if you’re looking to exclude someone nonrelated from an investigation61. Statistically62, if you test fifteen spots on the DNA strand63, there are more than an octillion nuclear DNA profiles, which is awfully64 nice when you’re in front of a jury and trying to pin down a particular individual. But with mtDNA, there are only forty-eight hundred sequences logged to date . . . and another six thousand reported in scientific literature. With mtDNA, you might wind up with a relative frequency of point one four or something like that . . .
basically, a subject will share a profile with four percent of the world’s population. It’s not specific enough to nail a perp without reasonable doubt in front of a jury, but it would allow you to rule someone out as a suspect because he or she doesn’t have that particular profile.” “So if the mtDNA profile of the hair found on the victim’s body doesn’t match the one for Trixie Stone’s hair,” Bartholemew said, “then I can’t link her to the murder.” “Correct.” “And if it does match?” Skipper glanced up. “Then you’ve got reasonable cause to arrest her.” The sun skipped the Alaskan tundra65. At least, that’s how it seemed to Laura, or why else would it be pitch-dark at nine in the morning? She anxiously waited for the flight attendant to open the hatch of the plane, now that they had landed in Bethel. It was bad enough that she had a fear of heights and hated flying, but this was only half a plane, really - the front end was devoted66 to cargo67.
“How are you doing?” Daniel asked.
“Fantastic,” Laura said, trying to lighten her voice. “It could have been a Cessna, right?” Daniel turned just as they were about to exit the plane and pulled up the hood68 of her jacket. He tugged70 on the strings71 and tied them under her chin, just like he used to do when Trixie was tiny and headed out to play in the snow. “It’s colder than you think,” he said, and he stepped onto the rollaway staircase that led to the runway.
It was an understatement. The wind was a knife that cut her to ribbons; the act of breathing felt like swallowing glass. Laura followed Daniel across the runway, hurrying into a small, squat72 building.
The airport consisted of chairs arranged in narrow rows and a single ticket counter. It wasn’t manned, because the lone73 employee had moved to the metal detector74, to screen passengers on the outbound flight. Laura watched two native girls hugging an older woman, all three of them crying as they inched toward the gate.
There were signs in both English and Yup’ik. “Does that mean bathroom?” Laura asked, pointing to a doorway76 with the word ANARVIK overhead.
“Well, there’s no Yup’ik word for bathroom,” Daniel said, smiling a little. “That actually translates to ‘the place to shit.’ “ The single door split off to the right and the left. The men’s and women’s rooms were not marked, but she could glimpse a urinal in one direction, so she walked the opposite way. The sinks were operated by push pedals; she pumped one to start the flow of water and then splashed some on her face. She looked at herself in the mirror.
If someone else walks into the bathroom, she thought, I will stop being a coward.
If the family outside has made it through security, to the gate.
If Daniel is facing forward, when I come out.
She used to play this game with herself all the time. If the light changed before she counted to ten, then she would go to Seth’s after class. If Daniel picked up before the third ring, she would stay an extra five minutes.
She’d take these random77 occurrences and elevate them to oracles78; she’d pretend that they were enough to justify79 her actions.
Or lack therof.
Wiping her hands on her jacket, she stepped outside to find the family still crying near the metal detector and Daniel facing out the window.
Laura sighed with relief and walked toward him.
Trixie was shivering so hard that she kept shaking off the quilt of dead grass Willie had used to cover them for warmth. It wasn’t like a blanket you could just pull over yourself; you had to burrow80 down and think warm thoughts and hope for the best. Her feet still ached and her hair was frozen against her head. She was consciously awake - somehow she thought that sleeping was too close to the line of being blue and stiff and dead, and that you might pass from one side to the other without any fanfare81.
Willie’s breath came out in little white clouds that floated in the air like Chinese lanterns on a string. His eyes were closed, which meant Trixie could stare at him as much as she wanted. She wondered what it was like to grow up here, to have a snowstorm hit like this and to know how to save yourself, instead of needing someone to do it for you. She wondered if her father knew this sort of stuff too, if elemental knowledge about living and dying might be underneath82 all the other, ordinary things he knew, like how to draw a devil and change a fuse and not burn pancakes.
“Are you awake?” she murmured.
Willie didn’t open his eyes, but he nodded the tiniest bit, and a stream of white flowed out of his nostrils83.
There was a warm zone connecting them. They were lying two feet apart, with grass heaped in the space between their bodies, but every time Trixie turned his way she could feel heat conducting through the dried straw, pulsing like light from a star. When she thought he might not notice, she inched infinitesimally closer.
“Do you know anyone who ever died out here?” Trixie asked.
“Yeah,” Willie said. “That’s why you don’t make a cave in a snowbank. If you die, no one can ever find you, and then your spirit won’t ever rest.” Trixie felt her eyes get damp, and that was awful, because almost immediately her lashes84 sealed shut again. She thought of the ladders she’d cut on her arms, the way she’d wanted to feel real pain instead of the hurt gnawed85 on her heart. Well, she’d gotten what she wanted, hadn’t she? Her toes burned like fire; her fingers had swollen86 like sausages and ached. The thought of that delicate razor blade being drawn87 across her skin seemed, by comparison, ridiculous, a drama for someone who didn’t really know what tragedy was.
Maybe it took realizing that you could die to keep you from wanting to do it.
Trixie wiped her nose and pressed her fingertips against her eyelashes to dissolve the ice. “I don’t want to freeze to death,” she whispered.
Willie swallowed. “Well. . . there is one way to get warmer.” “How?” “Take off our clothes.” “Yeah, right,” Trixie scoffed88.
“I’m not bullshitting you.” Willie glanced away. “We both get.
. . you know . . . and then huddle89 together.” Trixie stared at him. She didn’t want to be pressed up against him; she kept thinking of what had happened the last time she was this close to a boy.
“It’s just what you do,” Willie said. “It’s not like it means anything. My dad’s stripped down naked with other guys, when they get stuck overnight.” Trixie pictured her father doing this . . . but stopped abruptly90 when she got to the part where she had to imagine him without clothes.
“Last time it happened, my dad had to cuddle up to old Ellis Puuqatak the whole night. He swore he’d never leave home again without a sleeping bag.” Trixie watched Willie’s words crystallize in the cold, each as differentiated91 as a snowflake, and she knew he was telling her the truth. “You have to close your eyes first,” she said, hesitant. She shucked off her jeans, anorak, and sweater. She left on her bra and panties, because she had to.
“Now you,” Trixie said, and she looked away as he pulled off his coat and his shirt. She peeked92, though. His back was the color of the outside of an almond, and his shoulder blades flexed93 like pistons94. He took off his jeans, hopping95 around and making little sounds, like a person at the town pool who makes a big deal when he finally manages to get into the cold water.
Willie spread some grass on the ground, then lay down and motioned for Trixie to do the same. He drew their jackets over them, like a blanket, and then covered these with more grass.
Trixie squeezed her eyes shut. She could feel the rustle96 of the straw as he moved closer and the itch29 of the grass on her bare skin as it caught between them. Willie’s hand touched her back, and she stiffened97 as he came up behind her, curling his knees into the hollow bowl made by the bend of her own. She took deep breaths. She tried not to remember the last boy she’d touched, the last boy who’d touched her.
The inferno98 began where his fingers rested on her shoulder and spread to every spot where their skin was touching99. Pressed up against Willie, Trixie didn’t find herself thinking about Jason, or the night of the rape100. She didn’t feel threatened or even frightened. She simply felt, for the first time in hours, warm.
“Did you ever know someone who died?” she asked. “Someone our age?” It took Willie a moment, but he answered. “Yes.” The bitter wind beat against their tarp and made its loose tongue rattle101 like a gossip’s. Trixie unclenched her fists. “Me too,” she said.
Bethel was technically102 a city, but not by any normal standards.
The population was less than six thousand, although it was the closest hub for fifty-three native villages along the river.
Daniel turned to Laura. “We can get a taxi,” he said.
“There are taxis here?” “Most people don’t have cars. If you’ve got a boat and a snow-go, you’re pretty much set.” The cab driver was a tiny Asian woman with a massive bun perched on her head like an avalanche103 waiting to happen. She wore fake Gucci sunglasses, although it was still dark outside, and was listening to Patsy Cline on the radio. “Where you go?” Daniel hesitated. “Just drive,” he said. “I’ll tell you when to stop.” The sun had finally broken over the horizon like the yolk104 of an egg. Daniel stared out the window at the landscape: pancake flat, windswept, opaque106 with ice. The rutted roads had houses pitted along them, ranging from tiny shacks108 to modest 1970s split-levels. On the side of one road sat a couch with the cushions missing and its overstuffed arms dusted with frost.
They drove past the neighborhoods of Lousetown and Alligator109 Acres, the Alaska Commercial Company store, the medical center where Yup’ik Eskimos received free treatment. They passed White Alice, a huge curved structure that resembled a drive-in movie screen but that actually was a radar110 system built during the Cold War. Daniel had broken into it a hundred times as a kid - climbed up through the pitch-black center to sit on top and get drunk on Windsor Whiskey.
“Okay,” he told the cab driver. “You can stop here.” The Long House Inn was covered with ravens111. There were at least a dozen on the roof, and another group battled around the remains of a torn Hefty bag in the Dumpster off to the side. Daniel paid the driver and stared at the renovated112 building. When he’d left, it was on the verge113 of being condemned114.
There were three snow machines parked out front, something Daniel filed away in the recesses115 of his mind. He’d need one, after he figured out what direction to head to find Trixie. He could hotwire one of these, if he still remembered how, or take the honorable route and charge one to his MasterCard. They were sold in the Alaska Commercial store, at the end of the dairy aisle116, past the $6.99 gallons of milk.
“Did you know a group of ravens is called an unkindness?” Laura said, coming to stand beside him.
He looked at her. For some reason, the space between them seemed smaller in Alaska. Or maybe you just had to get far enough away from the scene of a crime to start to forget the details.
“Did you know,” he replied, “that ravens like Thai food better than anything else?” Laura’s eyes lit up. “You win.” A banner had been strung across the doorway: K300 HEADQUARTERS.
Daniel walked inside, stamping his boots to get the snow off. He’d been a kid when this dogsled race was just getting organized, when locals like Rick Swenson and Jerry Austin and Myron Angstman had won the pot of a few thousand dollars. Now the winnings were $20,000, and the mushers who came were stars with corporate117 backing for their dog kennels118 - Jeff King and Martin Buser and DeeDee Jonrowe.
The room was crowded. A knot of native kids sat on the floor, drinking cans of Coke and passing around a comic book. Two women answered phones, another was carefully printing the latest splits on a white board. There were Yup’ik mothers carrying moonfaced babies, elderly men reading the scrapbooks of newspaper clippings, schoolgirls with blue-black braids giggling119 behind their hands as they helped themselves to the potluck stews120 and cobblers. Everyone moved pendulously121 in layers of winter clothing, astronauts navigating122 the surface of a distant planet. Which, Daniel thought, this might as well be.
He walked up to the desk where the women were answering phones.
“Excuse me,” he said. “I’m trying to find a teenage girl. ..” One woman held up a finger: Just a moment.
He unzipped his jacket. Before they’d left, he’d packed a duffel full of winter gear; he and Laura were pretty much wearing everything they’d brought all at once. It was cold in Maine, but nothing compared to what it would be like in the Eskimo villages.
The woman hung up. “Hi. Can I . . .” She broke off as the phone rang again.
Frustrated123, Daniel turned away. Impatience124 was a trait you developed in the lower forty-eight, an attribute that a child who grew up here didn’t possess. Time wasn’t the same on the tundra; it stretched to elastic125 lengths and snapped back fast when you weren’t looking. The only things that really operated on a schedule were school and church, and most Yupiit were late to those anyway.
Daniel noticed an old man sitting on a chair, staring. He was Yup’ik, with the weathered skin of a person who’d spent his life outside. He wore green flannel126 pants and a fur parka.
“Aliurturua,” the man whispered. I’m seeing a ghost.
“Not a ghost.” Daniel took a step toward him. “Cama-i.” The man’s face wrinkled, and he reached for Daniel’s hand.
“Alangruksaaqamken.” You amazed me, showing up unexpectedly.
Daniel had not spoken Yup’ik in fifteen years, but the syllables127 flowed through him like a river. Nelson Charles had, in fact, taught him his very first Yup’ik words: iqalluk . . . fish, angsaq . . . boat, and terren purruaq . . . you suck the meat off an asshole, which is what Nelson told him to say to kids who made fun of him for being kass ‘aq. Daniel reached for Laura, who was watching the exchange with amazement128. “Una arnaq nulirqaqa,” he said. This is my wife.
“That kind’s pretty,” Nelson said in English. He shook her hand but didn’t look her in the eye.
Daniel turned to Laura. “Nelson used to be a substitute teacher.
When the native kids got to go on field trips to Anchorage that were subsidized by the government, I wasn’t allowed to go because I was white. So Nelson would take me on my own little field trip to check out fishnets and animal traps.” “Don’t teach these days,” Nelson said. “Now I’m the race marshal.” That would mean, Daniel realized, that Nelson had been here since the start of the K300. “Listen,” he said, and he found himself slipping back into Yup’ik because the words, thorny129 on his tongue and in his throat, didn’t hurt quite as much as they did in English. “Paniika tamaumauq.” My daughter is lost.
He didn’t have to explain to Nelson why he thought that his child, who lived a whole country away, might have wound up in Alaska when she went missing. The Yupiit understood that the person you were when you went to sleep at night might not necessarily be the person you were when you woke up. You could have become a seal or a bear. You might have crossed into the land of the dead. You might have casually130 spoken a wish aloud in your dreams and then found yourself living in the middle of it.
“She’s fourteen,” Daniel said, and he tried to describe Trixie, but he didn’t know what to say. How could her height or weight or the color of her hair convey that when she laughed, her eyes narrowed shut? That she had to have the peanut butter on the top side of the sandwich and the jelly on the bottom? That she sometimes got up and wrote poetry in the middle of the night because she’d dreamed it? The woman who had been on the phone stepped out from behind the table. “Sorry about that . . . the calls have been crazy. Anyway, the only kids coming through here I didn’t know are the Jesuit Volunteers. One girl flew in late, because of the snowstorm, but by now, they’re all up at Tuluksak, manning the checkpoint.” “What did she look like?” Laura asked. “The girl who was late?” “Skinny little thing. Black hair.” Laura turned to Daniel. “It’s not her.” “This girl didn’t have a warm coat,” the woman said. “I thought that was pretty crazy for a kid who knew she was coming to Alaska.
She didn’t even have a hat.” Daniel remembered Trixie sitting in the passenger seat of his truck in the middle of the winter as they drove up to the high school entrance. It’s freezing out, he’d said, and he handed her a hunter-orange wool stocking cap he’d used when he was out cutting wood. Wear this. And her response: Dad, do you want people to think I’m a total freak? There had been times, when he lived in Akiak, that he would know things before they happened. Sometimes it was as simple as thinking of a red fox and then looking up and seeing one.
Sometimes it was more profound: sensing a fight building up behind him, so that he could turn in time to throw the first punch. Once it had even wakened him out of his sleep: the sound of a gunshot and the echo of basketballs thudding when the bullet upset the cart they were stored on.
His mother had called it coincidence, but the Yupiit wouldn’t.
People’s lives were as tightly woven as a piece of lace, and pulling on one string might furrow131 another. And although he’d dismissed it when he was a teenager in Akiak, he recognized now the tightening132 of the skin at his temples, the way light moved too fast in front of his eyes a moment before he pictured his daughter, not wearing a hat, or anything else for that matter, shivering in what seemed to be a haystack.
Daniel felt his heart jump. “I have to get to Tuluksak.” “Ikayumaamken,” Nelson said. Let me help you.
The last time he’d been here, Daniel hadn’t wanted anyone’s help. The last time he’d been here, he’d actively133 pushed it away.
Now he turned to Nelson. “Can I borrow your snow machine?” he asked.
The checkpoint in Tuluksak was at the school, close enough to the river for mushers to settle their dogs in straw on the banks and then walk up to the building for hot food. All mushers racing134 the K300 passed through Tuluksak twice - once on the way up to Aniak and once on the way back. There was a mandatory135 four-hour rest and vet136 check during one of those stops. When Trixie and Willie arrived, a team of dogs was idling without its musher down at the bank of the river, being watched over by a kid with a clipboard who asked if they’d run into anyone else on the trail.
All but one of the mushers had passed through Tuluksak, detained, presumably, by the storm. No one had heard from him since he’d checked in at Akiak.
Trixie hadn’t really spoken much to Willie this morning. She had awakened137 with a start a little after six A.M., noticing first that it wasn’t snowing and second that she wasn’t cold. Willie’s arm was draped over her, and his breath fell onto the nape of her neck. Most humiliating, though, was the hard thing Trixie could feel pressing up against her thigh139. She had inched away from Willie, her face burning, and focused on getting herself fully51 dressed before he woke up and realized he had a boner.
Willie parked outside the school and climbed off the snow machine. “Aren’t you coming in?” Trixie asked, but he was already tinkering with the engine, not seeming the least bit inclined to finesse140 an introduction for her. “Whatever,” she muttered under her breath, and she walked into the building.
Directly in front of her was a trophy141 case that held a wooden mask decorated with feathers and fur and a loving cup with a basketball etched onto it. A tall boy with a long, horsey face was standing142 next to it. “You’re not Andi,” he said, surprised.
The Jesuit Volunteers who were in charge of the checkpoint at Tuluksak were a group of college-age kids who did Peace Corpsstyle service work at the native clinic in Bethel. Trixie had thought Jesuits were priestsand these kids clearly weren’t. She asked Willie why they were called that, and he just shrugged.
“I don’t know about Andi,” Trixie said. “I was just told to come here/- She held her breath, waiting for this boy to point a finger at her and scream Imposter! but before he could, Willie walked inside, stamping off his boots. “Hey, Willie, what’s up,” the tall boy said. Willie nodded and walked into one of the classrooms, heading toward a table set up with Crock Pots and Tupperware. He helped himself to a bowl of something and disappeared through another doorway.
“Well, I’m Carl,” the boy said. He held out his hand.
“Trixie.” “You ever done this before?” “Oh, sure,” Trixie lied. “Tons of times.” “Great.” He led her into the classroom. “Things are a little crazy right now, because we’ve got a team that just came in, but here’s a five-second orientation143: First and most important, that’s where the food is.” He pointed144. “The locals bring stuff all day long, and if you haven’t had any, I recommend the beaver145 soup. On the other side of the door where you came in is another classroom; that’s where the mushers sleep when they come in for their layover. They basically grab a mat and tell you when they want to be woken up.
We rotate shifts - every half hour someone’s got to sit out on the river, which is cruel and unusual punishment in this kind of weather. If you’re the one on duty when a musher comes in, make sure you tell him his time and call it into headquarters, then show him which plywood corral has his gear in it. Right now everyone’s a little freaked out because one team hasn’t made it in since the storm.” Trixie listened to Carl, nodding at the right places, but he might as well have been speaking Swahili. Maybe if she watched someone else doing what she was supposed to do, she could copy when it came her turn.
“And just so you know,” Carl said. “Mushers are allowed to drop dogs here.” Why? Trixie wondered. To see if they land on their feet? A cell phone rang, and someone called out Carl’s name. Left alone, Trixie wandered around, hoping to avoid Willie, who was doing such an effortless job of avoiding her. It seemed that the entire school consisted of two classrooms, and Trixie thought of Bethel High’s complex layout, a map she had memorized all summer before starting ninth grade.
“You made it.” Trixie turned to find the vet who’d been on the bush plane with her from Anchorage. “Go figure.” “Well, I guess I’ll see you outside. I hear there’s a nasty case of frostbite out there with my name on it.” He zipped up his coat and waved as he walked out the door.
Trixie was starving, but not enough to want to eat something that might have beaver in it. She gravitated toward the oil stove at the corner of the room and held her hands out in front of it.
It was no warmer than Willie’s skin had been.
“You all set?” As if her thoughts had conjured146 him, Willie was suddenly standing next to her. “For what?” “This.” “Oh, yeah,” she said. “Piece of cake.” He smirked147 and started to walk away. “Hey. Where are you going?” “Home. This is my village.” Until that moment, it hadn’t occurred to Trixie that she was going to be by herself again. As a teenager, she was always part of a greater whole - a family, a class, a peer group - and there was always someone sticking a nose in her business. How many times had she stormed off after a fight with her mother, yelling that she just wanted to be left alone? Be careful what you wish for, Trixie thought. After a single day spent on her own, here she was getting all upset about losing the company of a total stranger.
She tried to wipe all the emotion off her face, so that it reflected back at Willie the same indifference148 he was showing her.
Then she remembered she was still wearing a coat that belonged to someone he knew, and she struggled to unfasten it.
Willie pushed her hands away from the zipper149. “Keep it,” he said. “I’ll come back for it later.” She followed him out of the school building, feeling the cold rake the hair from her scalp. Willie headed toward a cluster of small houses that seemed two-dimensional, sketched150 in shades of smoky brown and gray. His hands were dug deep into his pockets, and he spun151 around so that he wouldn’t have to bear the bite of the wind. “Willie,” Trixie called out, and although he didn’t look up, he stopped walking. “Thanks.” He ducked his head deeper, an acknowledgment, then kept moving backward toward the village. It was exactly how Trixie felt: If she was getting anywhere on this journey, it was still the wrong way. She watched Willie, pretending she could see him even when she couldn’t, until she was distracted by the sound of barking near the river.
The JV they’d seen when they pulled up in their snow-go was still on the ice, watching over the same dog team, which panted in small frosty bites of punctuation152. He grinned when he saw Trixie and passed her the clipboard. “Are you my relief? It’s brutal153 out here. Hey, listen, Finn Hanlon’s up taking a leak while the vet finishes checking out the team.” “What do I have to do?” Trixie said, but the boy was already halfway154 up the hill, making a beeline for the warmth of the school. Trixie looked around, nervous. The vet was too busy to pay attention to her, but there were a few native kids kicking a Sprite can, and their parents, who hopped155 from foot to foot to ward75 off the cold and talked about who would win the race this year.
The lead dog looked tired. Trixie couldn’t blame the poor thing; she’d traveled the same route on the back of a snow machine and it had nearly killed her; what would it be like to do that barefoot and naked? Taking a glance at the vet - he could keep an eye out, just in case that last musher came in, couldn’t he? - she walked away from the team to a set of plywood lockers156. Rummaging inside one, she grabbed a handful of kibble and walked back to the husky. She held out her palm, and the dog’s tongue, rough and warm, rasped against her skin to devour158 the treat.
“Jesus,” a voice yelled. “You trying to get me disqualified?” Staring down at her was a musher wearing a bib with the number 12 on it. She glanced at her clipboard: FINN HANLON.
“You’re feeding my dogs!” “S-sorry,” Trixie stammered160. “I thought . . .” Ignoring her, Hanlon turned to the vet. “What’s the verdict?” “He’s going to be fine, but not if you race him.” The vet stood up, wiped his hands on his coat.
The musher knelt beside the dog and rubbed him between the ears, then unhooked his traces. “I’m dropping him,” he said, handing the neck line to Trixie. She held it and watched Hanlon reconfigure the tug69 line of the dog that had been Juno’s partner, so that the sled would pull straight. “Sign me out,” he ordered, and he stepped on the runners of his sled, holding on to the handle bow. “All right,” he called, and the team loped north along the river, gaining speed, as the spectators on the bank cheered.
The vet packed up his bag. “Let’s get Juno comfortable,” he said, and Trixie nodded, holding the neck line like a leash161 as she started to walk the dog toward the school building.
“Very funny,” the vet said.
She turned around to find him in front of a stake hammered into the grass along the edge of the river. “But it’s so cold out here ...” “You noticed? Tie him up, and I’ll get the straw.” Trixie clipped the dog’s neck line onto the stake. The vet returned, carrying a slice of hay in his arms. “You’d be surprised how cozy162 this is,” he said, and Trixie thought of the night she’d spent with Willie.
A current suddenly energized163 the small tangle164 of spectators, and they began to point to the spot on the horizon where the river became a vanishing point. Trixie gripped the clipboard with her mittened165 hands and looked at the pinprick in the distance.
“It’s Edmonds!” a Yup’ik boy cried. “He made it!” The vet stood up. “I’ll go tell Carl,” he said, and he left Trixie to fend166 for herself.
The musher was wearing a white parka that came down to his knees and the number 06 on his bib. “Whoa,” he called out, and his malamutes slowed to a stop, panting. The swing dog - the one closest to the sled - curled up like a fiddlehead on the ice and closed her eyes.
The children spilled over the riverbank, tugging167 at the musher’s coat. “Alex Edmonds! Alex Edmonds!” they shouted. “Do you remember me from last year?” Edmonds brushed them off. “I have to scratch,” he said to Trixie. “Um. Okay,” she answered, and she wondered why he thought he had to make an itch common knowledge. But Edmonds took the clipboard out of her hands and drew a line through his name. He handed it back and pulled the sleeping bag off the basket of the sled, revealing an old Yup’ik man who reeked168 of alcohol and who was shaking even as he snored. “I found him on the trail. He must have passed out during the storm. I gave him mouth to mouth last night to get him breathing again, but the weather was too bad to get him back to the medical center in Bethel. This was the closest checkpoint ... can someone help me get him inside?” Before Trixie could run up to the school, she saw Carl and the other volunteers hurrying down to the river. “Holy cow,” Carl said, staring at the drunk. “You probably saved his life.” “Whatever that’s worth,” Edmonds replied. Trixie watched the other volunteers drag the old man out of the dogsled and carry him up to the school. The bystanders whispered and clucked to each other, snippets of conversation in Yup’ik and English that Trixie caught: Edmonds used to be an EMT... Kingurauten Joseph ought to pay for this. . . damn shame. One Yup’ik woman with owl26 eyeglasses and a tiny bow of a mouth came up to Trixie. She leaned over the clipboard and pointed to the line splitting Edmonds’s name. “I had ten bucks169 riding on him to win,” she complained.
With all the dog teams accounted for, the onlookers170 dispersed171, heading into the village where Willie had gone. Trixie wondered if he was related to any of those little kids who’d been cheering for Edmonds. She wondered what he’d done when he got home. Drunk orange juice out of the container, like she might have? Taken a shower? Lay down on his bed, thinking of her? Just as suddenly as all the activity had arrived, there was nobody on the bank of the river. Trixie looked north, but she couldn’t see Finn Hanlon and his team anymore. She looked south, but she couldn’t tell where she and Willie had come from. The sun had climbed almost directly overhead, washing out the ice so that it made her eyes burn even to pick out the trail from the field of white.
Trixie sank down beside Juno on the straw and scratched the dog’s head with her glove. The husky stared up at her with one brown eye and one blue, and when he panted, it looked like he was smiling. Trixie imagined what it was like to be a sled dog, to have to pull your weight or realize you’d be left behind. She pictured how it would feel to trust your instincts in a strange land, to know the difference between where you had been and where you were going.
When the river froze in the winter, it got its own highway number, and at any given time you would see rusted172 trucks and dogsled teams driving over the ice in no particular direction or parallel course. Like most Yup’ik Eskimos, Nelson didn’t believe in a helmet or goggles173; to brace174 himself against the wind on the old man’s snow machine, Daniel had to crouch41 down close to the windshield. Laura sat behind him, her face buried against the back of his coat.
In the middle of the river was a stationary175 white truck. As Daniel slowed the snow-go, he could feel Laura relax - she was freezing, even if she wasn’t complaining. “This must be a checkpoint,” he said, and he got off the machine with his thighs176 still thrumming from the power of the engine.
A dreadlocked white woman unrolled the driver’s side window.
“Kingurauten Joseph, for the love of God, go pass out in someone else’s backyard.” Kingurauten was Yup’ik for too late. Daniel pulled down the neck warmer that covered his nose and mouth. “I think you’ve got me confused with someone else,” he began, and then realized that he knew the woman in the truck. “Daisy?” he said hesitantly.
Crazy Daisy, that was what they’d called her when she used to run the mail out to the native villages by dogsled back when Daniel was a kid. She frowned at him. “Who the hell are you?” “Daniel Stone,” he said. “Annette Stone’s son.” “That wasn’t the name of Annette’s kid. He was” “Wassilie,” Daniel finished.
Daisy scratched her scalp. “Didn’t you bug177 out of here because . . .” “Nah,” Daniel lied. “I just left for college.” It was common knowledge that Crazy Daisy had gotten that way by running with Timothy Leary’s crowd in the sixties, and that she’d pretty much fried the functioning parts of her brain. “Did you happen to see a snow-go pass by here with a kass’aq girl and a Yup’ik boy?” “This morning?” “Yeah.” Daisy shook her head. “Nope. Sorry.” She jerked her thumb toward the back of the truck. “You want to come in and warm up? I got coffee and Snickers bars.” “Can’t,” Daniel said, lost in thought. If Trixie hadn’t come past Akiak, then how had he missed her on the trail? “Maybe later,” Daisy yelled, as he turned the ignition on the snow machine again. “I’d love to catch up.” Daniel pretended not to hear her. But as he circled around the truck, Daisy started waving like a madwoman, trying to get his attention. “No one’s passed by this morning,” she said, “but a girl and boy came through last night, before the storm hit.” Daniel didn’t answer, just gunned the engine and drove up the riverbank into Akiak, the town he’d run away from fifteen years earlier. The Washeteria - the place they’d gone with their laundry and for showers - was now a convenience store and video rental178 shop. The school was still a squat, serviceable gray building; the house beside it where he’d grown up had two dogs staked out front.
Daniel wondered who lived there now, if it was still the schoolteacher, if she had children. If basketballs still sometimes started to bounce in the gymnasium without being set in motion, if the last one to lock up the school building ever saw the old principal who’d killed himself, still hanging from the crossbeam in the only classroom.
He stopped in front of the house next door to the school, a shack107 with a slight pedigree. A snow-go sat in front of the building, and an aluminum179 boat peeked out from beneath a blue tarp. Paper snowflakes had been taped to the windows, as well as a red metallic180 crucifix. “Why are we stopping?” Laura asked. “What about Trixie?” He got off the snow machine and turned to her. “You’re not coming with me.” She wasn’t used to this kind of cold, and he couldn’t slow down for her and risk losing Trixie for good. And a part of him wanted to be alone when he found Trixie. There was so much he needed to explain.
Laura stared at him, struck dumb. Her eyebrows181 had frosted over, her eyelashes were matted together with ice, and when she finally spoke, her sentence rose like a white banner between them.
“Please don’t do this,” she said, starting to cry. “Take me with you.” Daniel pulled her into his arms, assuming that Laura thought this was a punishment, retribution for leaving him behind when she had her affair. It made her seem vulnerable; it made him remember how easy it was for them to still hurt each other. “If we had to walk through hell to find Trixie, I’d follow you. But this is a different kind of hell, and I’m the one who knows where he’s going. I’m asking you .. . I’m begging you to trust me.” Laura opened her mouth, and what might have been a reply came out only as a smoke ring full of what she could not say. Trust was exactly what they no longer had between them. “I can go faster if I don’t have to worry about you,” he said.
Daniel saw true fear in her eyes. “You’ll come back?” she asked.
“We both will.” Laura glanced around at the rutted street with snow-go tracks, at the public water receptacles at the base of the street. The community was silent, windswept, frigid182. It looked, Daniel knew, like a dead end.
“Come with me.” He led Laura up the set of wooden stairs and opened the door without knocking, entering a little antechamber.
There were plastic bags stuck on nails in the frame overhead, and stacks of newspaper. A pair of boots toppled to the right, and a tanned hide was stretched on the back wall, beside the door that led into the house. Lying on the linoleum184 was a severed185 moose hoof186 and a half rack of frozen ribs187.
Laura stepped hesitantly over them. “Is this ... is this where you used to live?” The interior door opened, revealing a Yup’ik woman about sixty years old, holding an infant in her arms. She took one look at Daniel and backed away, her eyes bright with tears.
“Not me,” Daniel said. “Cane188.” Charles and Minnie Johnson, the parents of Daniel’s one and only childhood friend, treated him with the same sort of deference189 they might have given any other ghost who sat down at their kitchen table to share a cup of coffee. Charles’s skin was as dark and lined as a cinnamon stick; he wore creased190 jeans and a red western shirt and called Daniel Wass. His eyes were clouded with cataracts191, as if life were something poured into a body, a vessel192 that could hold only so much before memories floated across the windows of consciousness.
“It’s been a long time,” Charles said.
“Yes.” “You’ve been living Outside?” “With my family.” There was a long silence. “We wondered when you’d come home,” Minnie said.
The Yupiit did not speak of the dead, and because of that, neither would Daniel. But he had less practice with silence. In a Yup’ik household, ten minutes might pass between a question and the answer. Sometimes you didn’t even have to reply out loud; it was enough to be thinking your response.
They sat around the kitchen table in the quiet, until a young woman walked through the front door. She was clearly Minnie’s daughter - they had the same wide smile and smooth hickory skin but Daniel remembered her only as a young girl who liked to storyknife - using a butter knife in the soft mud to illustrate193 the tales she’d tell. Now, though, she held in her arms her own fat, squirming baby, who took one look at Laura and pointed at her and laughed.
“Sorry,” Elaine said shyly. “He’s never seen anyone with that color hair before.” She unwound her scarf and unzipped her coat, then did the same for the baby.
“Elaine, this is Wass,” Charles said. “He lived here a long time ago.” Daniel stood at the introduction, and when he did, the baby reached for him. He grinned, catching194 the boy as he twisted out of his mother’s arms. “And who’s this?” “My son,” Elaine said. “His name’s Cane.” Elaine lived in the same house as her parents, along with her two older children and her husband. So did her sister Aurora195, who was seventeen years old and heavily pregnant. There was a brother, too, in his late twenties; Laura could see him in the only bedroom in the house, feverishly196 playing Nintendo.
On the kitchen table was a hunk of frozen meat in a bowl - if Laura had to guess, she would have said it was intimately related to the moose parts in the arctic entry. There was a stove but no sink. Instead, a fifty-five-gallon drum in the corner of the kitchen area was filled with water. Dusty ice-fishing lures197 and antique hand-carved kayak paddles were suspended from the ceiling; five-gallon buckets filled with lard and dried fish were stacked beside the threadbare couch. The walls were covered with religious paraphernalia199: programs from church services, plaques200 of Jesus and Mary, calendars printed with the feast days of saints. Anywhere there was a spare square of paneling, a photograph had been tacked198: recent pictures of the baby, old school portraits of Elaine and Aurora and their brother, the boy Daniel had been accused of murdering.
There was a curious irony201 to being left behind here, even if the very thought of it made Laura break into a sweat. She kept remembering what Daniel had said about the Alaskan bush: It was a place where people tended to disappear. What did that bode202 for Trixie, or for Daniel? And what might it mean for Laura herself? In Maine, when Lauras life had been jolted203 off course, it had been terrifying and unfamiliar204. Here, though, she had no standard for comparison - and not knowing what came next was the norm. She didn’t know why no one would look her in the eye, why the boy playing video games hadn’t come out to introduce himself, why they even had state-of-the-art video equipment when the house itself was little more than a shed, why a family that at one point had believed you’d killed their son would welcome you into their home. The world had been turned inside out, and she was navigating by the feel of its seams.
Daniel was speaking quietly to Charles, telling him about Trixie. “Excuse me,” Laura said, leaning toward Minnie. “Could I use your restroom?” Minnie pointed down the hall. At its end was a flattened205 cardboard refrigerator box, erected206 like a screen. “Laura,” Daniel said, getting to his feet.
“I’m fine!” she said, because she thought if she could make Daniel believe it, then maybe he’d convince her of it as well. She slipped behind the screen, and her jaw dropped. There was no bathroom; there wasn’t even a toilet. Only a white bucketlike the ones in the living room that stored dried fishwith a toilet seat balanced on top of it.
She peeled off her ski pants and squatted207, holding her breath the whole time, praying nobody was listening. When Laura and Daniel had moved in together, there had still been a certain shyness between them. After all, she was pregnant, and that had speeded along a relationship that might have otherwise taken years to reach that level of commitment. Laura could remember Daniel separating his laundry from hers for the first few months, for example. And she had studiously avoided going to the bathroom if Daniel happened to be in there taking a shower.
She couldn’t recall when, exactly, all their shirts and jeans and underwear had mixed in the washer together. Or when she’d been able to pee while he was two feet away from her, brushing his teeth. It was simply what happened when the histories of two people dovetailed into one.
Laura straightened her clothes - washing her hands wasn’t even an option - and stepped out from behind the partition. Daniel was waiting for her in the narrow hallway. “I should have warned you about the honey bucket.” She thought of how Daniel couldn’t bear to run the dishwasher if it wasn’t overflowing208, how his showers lasted less than five minutes. She’d always considered it thrifty209; now she saw that when you grew up with water as a luxury and plumbing210 a distant wish, it might simply be a habit too deeply rooted to break.
“I need to get going,” Daniel said.
Laura nodded. She wanted to smile at him, but she couldn’t find it in herself. So much could happen between now and the next time she saw him. She wrapped her arms around Daniel and buried her face against his chest.
He led her into the kitchen, where he shook Charles’s hand and spoke in Yup’ik: “Quyana. Piurra.” When Daniel walked into the arctic entry, Laura followed. She stood at the front door, watching him start the snow machine and climb aboard. He lifted one hand, a farewell, and mouthed words he knew she would not hear over the roar of the engine.
I love you.
“I love you, too,” Laura murmured, but by then, all that remained of Daniel was what he’d left behind: a trail of exhaust, hatched tracks in the snow, and a truth neither of them had spoken for some time.
Bartholemew stared at the sheet of results that Skipper Johanssen had given him. “How sure are you?” he asked.
Skipper shrugged. “As sure as this particular typing can be.
Onehundredth of one percent of the world’s population has the same mito DNA profile as your suspect. You’re talking about six hundred thousand people, any of whom could have been at the scene of the crime.” “But that also suggests that ninety-nine point ninety-nine percent of the population wasn’t there.” “Correct. At least not based on that piece of hair you found on the victim.” Bartholemew stared at her. “And Trixie Stone doesn’t fall into that ninety-nine point ninety-nine percent?” “Nope.” “So I can’t exclude Trixie Stone.” “Not mitochondrially speaking.” The odds211 were looking better, when you glanced at them from this angle, Bartholemew thought. “Even though Max said . . .” “No insult to Max, but no court is going to put stock in an analysis done by the human eye, as compared to a validated212 scientific test like mine.” Skipper smiled at him. “I think,” she said, “you’ve got yourself a suspect.” The Johnsons were addicted213 to the Game Show Network. They especially liked Richard Dawson, who kissed anything on two legs while hosting Family Feud214. “One day,” Minnie kept saying, elbowing her husband, “I’m gonna run away with Richard.” “He’ll run, all right, when he sees you coming after him.” Charles laughed.
They had a satellite dish, a flat-screen TV, a PlayStation and a GameCube, as well as a DVD/VCR player and a stereo system that would have put Laura’s own to shame. Roland, the antisocial brother, had bought all the equipment with his check this year from the Alaska Permanent Fund - the dividends215 on oil that every Alaskan was paid by the government since 1984. The Johnsons had lived the entire year on the $1,100 of Charles’s check alone, supplemented by hunting expeditions for caribou216 and dried salmon217 caught during the summer at fish camp. Roland had told her that Akiak residents could even get wireless218 Internet for free - they qualified159 for government-funded technology because they were both rural and native - but that no one could afford it. A person had to have a computer first, which would cost nearly a whole year’s Permanent Fund check.
When Laura had had her fill of Richard Dawson, she put on her coat and walked outside. On a telephone pole, someone had nailed a basketball hoop220; the ball itself was half buried in a hummock221 of snow. She pulled it free and bounced it, amazed at how the sound echoed. Here there were no lawn mowers or blaring radios or rap music. No slamming of SUV doors, no clatter222 of kids spilling out of a school bus, no hum from a nearby highway. It was the sort of place where you could hear the tumblers of your mind falling into place as you pieced thought together, as you tried to match it to action.
Although Laura knew without a doubt that Trixie had not murdered Jason, she didn’t understand what had made her daughter run away. Was Trixie just scared? Or did she know more about what had happened that night than she’d let on? Laura wondered if it was possible to run away forever. Daniel had certainly managed to do it. She knew that his childhood had been foreign, but she never could have envisioned something as stark223 as this. If she’d believed that there was a vast dichotomy between the man she’d met in college and the one she lived with now . . . well, there was an even greater gap between who Daniel had been when she met him and where he had started. It made Laura wonder where all of Daniel’s jettisoned224 personalities225 had gone. It made her wonder if you could know a person only at a single moment in time, because a year from now or a day from now, he might be different. It made her wonder if everyone reinvented himself or herself, if that was as natural as other animals shedding skin.
If she was going to be honest now - and wasn’t it time for that, already? - Laura would have to admit that Trixie had changed, too. She had wanted to believe that behind that closed bedroom door, her daughter was still playing God with the denizens226 of her dollhouse; but in fact Trixie had been keeping secrets, and pushing boundaries, and turning into someone Laura didn’t recognize.
On the other hand, Daniel had been keeping a vigil for Trixie’s metamorphosis. He’d been so nervous about the thought of their daughter getting older, taking on the world, being flattened by it. As it turned out, though, Trixie had grown up during the one instant Daniel had turned away, momentarily distracted by his wife’s betrayal.
It wasn’t what you didn’t know about the people you loved that would shock you; it was what you didn’t want to admit about yourself.
When the door opened, Laura jumped, her thoughts scattering227 like a flock of crows. Charles stood on the steps, smoking a pipe.
“You know what it means if you go outside and there are no Yupiit around?” “No.” “That it’s too damn cold to be standing here.” He took the basketball from Laura’s hands and sank a neat basket; together they watched it roll into a neighbor’s yard.
Laura dug her hands into her pockets. “It’s so quiet,” she said. How ironic228, she thought, to make conversation about the lack of it.
Charles nodded. “Every now and again someone will move to Bethel, and then come back because it’s too loud. Down there, there’s too much going on.” It was hard to imagine this: Bethel was the last place Laura would ever have considered a metropolis229. “New York City would probably make their heads explode.” “I was there once,” Charles said, surprising her. “Oh, I been lots of places you wouldn’t think: to California, and to Georgia, when I was in the army. And to Oregon, when I went to school.” “College?” Charles shook his head. “Boarding school. Back before they made it a law to have education in every village, the government used to ship us off to learn the same things the whites did. You could pick your school . . . there was one in Oklahoma, but I went to Chemawa in Oregon because my cousins were already there. I got sick like you can’t imagine, eating all that white food ...
melting in that heat. One time I even got in trouble for trying to snare230 a rabbit with one of my shoelaces.” Laura tried to imagine what it would be like to be sent away from the only home you’d ever known, just because somebody else thought it was best for you. “You must have hated it.” “Back then, I did,” Charles said. He dumped the contents of his pipe and kicked snow over the embers. “Now, I’m not so sure. Most of us came back home, but we got to see what else was out there and how those folks lived. Now some kids don’t ever leave the village. The only kass’aqs they meet are teachers, and the only teachers who come up here either can’t get hired in their own towns or are running away from something . . . not exactly role models. The kids today, they all talk about getting out of the village, but then when they do, it’s like Bethel . . . only a hundred times worse. People move too fast and talk too much, and before you know it, they come back to a place they don’t want to be . . . except now they know there’s nowhere left to run.” Charles glanced at Laura, then tucked the pipe into his coat pocket. “That’s how it was for my son.” She nodded. “Daniel told me about him.” “He wasn’t the first. The year before him, a girl took pills.
And earlier still, two ball players hanged themselves.” “I’m sorry,” Laura said.
“I knew all along that Wass wasn’t the one who killed Cane.
Cane would have done that, no matter what, all by himself. Some people, they get down in a hole so deep they can’t figure out what to hold on to.” And some people, Laura thought, make the choice to let go.
Although it was only two o’clock, the sun was already sagging231 against the horizon. Charles headed back up the steps. “I know this place must seem like Mars to you. And that you and me, we’re about as different as different could be. But I also know what it feels like to lose a child.” He turned at the top landing. “Don’t freeze to death. Wassilie’d never forgive me.” He left Laura outside, watching the night sky bloom. She found herself lulled by the lack of sound. It was easier than you’d think to grow accustomed to silence.
When the Jesuit Volunteers tried to raise Kingurauten Joseph’s body temperature by cutting off his frozen clothes and covering him with blankets, they found a dove fashioned delicately out of bone, a carving232 knife, and three hundred dollars in his boot. This was a cash economy, Carl told Trixie. That was Joseph’s health insurance, wadded up in his sock.
Trixie had just come in from her rotation233 on the riverbank, and she was still frozen to the core. “Why don’t you two warm up together?” Carl suggested, and he left her watching over the old man.
She didn’t mind, actually. While the mushers raced from Tuluksak to Kalskag and Aniak and back, the volunteers were mostly catching some sleep. But Trixie was wide awake; she’d slept on the trail with Willie, and her body was all mixed up with jet lag. She remembered how every year when it was time to turn the clocks back, her father would insist that he was going to stay on daylight saving time and keep the extra hour, so that he’d get more work done. The problem was, when he took the additional minutes every morning, he’d conk out in front of the television earlier at night. Finally he’d give in and live on the same schedule as the rest of the world.
She wished her father was here right now.
“I’ve missed you,” he answered, and Trixie whirled around in the dark classroom. Her heart was pounding, but she couldn’t see anyone there.
She looked down at Joseph. He had the broad, chiseled234 features of a Yup’ik and white hair that was matted down in whorls. His beard stubble glinted silver in the moonlight. His hands were folded over his chest, and Trixie thought they couldn’t have looked more different from her father’s - Joseph’s were blunt and calloused235, the tools of a laborer236; her father’s were smooth and long fingered and ink stained, an artist’s.
“Aw, Nettie,” he murmured, opening his eyes. “I came back.” “I’m not Nettie,” Trixie said, moving away.
Joseph blinked. “Where am I?” “Tuluksak. You nearly froze to death.” Trixie hesitated. “You got really drunk and passed out on the K300 trail, and a musher quit the race to bring you in here. He saved your life.” “Shouldn’t have bothered,” Joseph muttered.
There was something about Joseph that seemed familiar to Trixie, something that made her want to take a second look at the lines around his eyes and the way his eyebrows arched. “You one of those juveniles237 for Jesus?” “They’re Jesuit Volunteers,” Trixie corrected. “And no. I’m not.” “Then who are you?” Well, wasn’t that the $64,000 question. Trixie couldn’t have answered that if Joseph had held a gun to her head. It wasn’t even a matter of giving her name, because that didn’t explain anything.
She could remember who she used to be - that picture was like an image sealed into a snow globe, one that went fuzzy when she shook it too hard but then, if she held her breath, might see clearly.
She could look down at herself now and tell you how surprised she was that she had come this distance, how strange it was to discover that lying came as easily as breathing. What she couldn’t put into words was what had happened in between to change her from one person into the other.
Her father used to tell her the story of how, when she was eight, she’d awakened in the middle of the night with her arms and legs burning, as if they’d been tugged from their sockets238. It’s growing pains, he’d told her sympathetically, and she’d burst into tears, certain that when she woke up in the morning, she’d be as big as him.
The amazing thing was, it did happen that quickly. All those mornings in middle school she’d spent scrutinizing239 her chest to see if it had budded the slightest bit, all the practice kisses she’d given her bathroom mirror to make sure her nose didn’t get in the way on D-day; all the waiting for a boy to notice her . . .
and as it turned out, growing up was just as she’d feared. One day when your alarm clock rang, you got up and realized you had someone else’s thoughts in your head ... or maybe just your old ones, minus the hope.
“Are you sure you’re not Nettie?” Joseph said when Trixie didn’t answer.
It was the name he’d called her before. “Who is she?” “Well.” He turned his face to the wall. “She’s dead.” “Then chances are pretty good I’m not her.” Joseph seemed surprised. “Didn’t you ever hear about the girl who came back from the dead?” Trixie rolled her eyes. “You’re still trashed.” “A young girl died,” Joseph replied, as if she hadn’t spoken at all, “but she didn’t know it. All she knew is that she went on a journey and reached a village. Her grandmother was at the village, too, and they lived together there. Every now and then, they went to another village, where the girl’s father would give her fur parkas. What she didn’t know was that he was really giving them to her namesake, the girl who’d been born just after his daughter had died.” Joseph sat up gingerly, sending a potent240 wave of alcohol fumes241 toward Trixie. “One day, they were going home from that other village, and the girl’s grandmother said she’d forgotten some things. She asked the girl to go get them. She told her that if she came to a fallen evergreen242 tree, even though it might look like she could go under it or around it, she had to go over it instead.” Trixie folded her arms, listening in spite of her best intentions.
“The girl backtracked to the village, and sure enough, she came to a fallen tree. She tried to do what her grandmother had told her, but when she climbed over it she tripped, and that was the last thing she remembered. She couldn’t figure out the way back to her grandmother, and she started to cry. Just then, a man from the village came out of the qasgiq and heard weeping. He followed the noise and saw the girl who had died years ago. He tried to grab on to her, but it was like holding only air.” Of course, Trixie thought. Because the more you changed, the less of you there was.
“The man rubbed his arms with food, and then he could grab her, even when the girl fought him. He carried her into the qasgiq, but they kept rising off the floorboards. An elder rubbed the girl with drippings from a seal oil lamp, and then she was able to stand without floating away. They all saw that this girl was the same one who had died. She was wearing the parkas her father had given to her namesake, all those years. And wouldn’t you know it, after she came back, her namesake died not long after that.” Joseph pulled the blanket up to his chest. “She lived to be an old woman,” he said. “She told people what it had been like in Pamaalirugmiut . .
. the place back there, obscured from their view.” “Oh really,” Trixie said, not buying a word of the story. “Let me guess: There was a white light and harp243 music?” Joseph looked at her, puzzled. “No, she used to say it was dry.
People who die are always thirsty. That’s why we send the dead on their way with fresh water. And why, maybe, I’m always looking for a little something to wet my throat.” Trixie drew her knees into her chest, shivering as she thought of Jason. “You’re not dead.” Joseph sank back down on the mat. “You’d be surprised,” he said.
“It’s not too cold to keep me from going for a walk,” Aurora Johnson said to Laura in perfect, unaccented English, and she stood there, waiting for Laura to respond, as if she’d asked her a question.
Maybe Aurora wanted someone to talk to and didn’t know how to ask. Laura could understand that. She got to her feet and reached for her coat. “Do you mind company?” Aurora smiled and pulled on a jacket that fell to her knees but managed to zip up over her swollen belly244. She stepped into boots with soles as thick as a fireman’s and headed outside.
Laura fell into step beside her, moving briskly against the cold. It had been two hours since Daniel had left, and the afternoon was pitch-dark now - there were no streetlamps lighting245 their way, no glow from a distant highway. From time to time the green cast of a television set inside a house would rise like a spirit in the window, but for the most part, the sky was an unbroken navy velvet246, the stars so thick you could cut through them with a sweep of your arm.
Aurora’s hair was brown, streaked247 with orange. Long tendrils blew out from the edges of her parka’s hood. She was only three years older than Trixie, yet she was on the verge of giving birth.
“When are you due?” Laura asked.
“My BIB date is January tenth.” “BIB date?” “Be-in-Bethel,” Aurora explained. “If you live in the villages and you’re pregnant, you have to move into the prematernal home in the city six weeks or so before you’re due. That way, the docs have you where they need you. Otherwise, if there’s some kind of complication, the medical center has to get the anguyagta to fly in a Blackhawk. It costs the National Guard ten thousand bucks a pop.” She glanced at Laura. “Do you just have the one? Baby, I mean?” Laura nodded, bowing her head as she thought of Trixie. She hoped that wherever Trixie was now, it was warm. That someone had given her a bite to eat, or a blanket. She hoped that Trixie was leaving markers the way she had learned ages ago in Girl Scouts248 - a twig249 broken here, a cairn of rocks there.
“Minnie’s my second mom, you know,” Aurora said. “I was adopted out. Families are like that here. If a baby dies, your sister or aunt might give you her own. After Cane died, I was born and my mom sent me to be Minnie’s daughter too.” She shrugged. “I’m adopting out this baby to my biological mom’s cousin.” “You’re just going to give it away?” Laura said, shocked.
“I’m not giving her away. I’m making it so she’ll have both of us.” “What about the father?” Laura asked. “Are you still involved with him?” “I see him about once a week,” Aurora said.
Laura stopped walking. She was talking to a Yup’ik girl who was heavily pregnant, but she was seeing Trixie’s face and hearing Trixie’s voice. What if Laura had been around when Trixie had met Jason, instead of having her own affair? Would Trixie have ever dated him? Would she have been as crushed when they broke up? Would she have been at Zephyr’s house the night of the party? Would she have gotten raped138? For every action, there was an opposite reaction. But maybe you could undo250 your wrongs by keeping someone else from making the same mistakes of misjudgment. “Aurora,” Laura said slowly, “I’d love to meet him. Your boyfriend.” The Yup’ik girl beamed. “Really? Now?” “That would be great.” Aurora grabbed her hand and dragged her through the streets of Akiak. When they reached a long, low gray building, Aurora clattered252 up the wooden ramp253. “I just need to stop off at the school for a sec,” she said.
The doors were unlocked, but there was nobody inside. Aurora flipped254 on a light switch and hurried into an adjoining room.
Laura unzipped her jacket and glanced toward the gymnasium on the right, its polished wooden floors gleaming. If she looked closely, would she still see Cane’s blood? Could she retrace255 the steps Daniel had taken all those years ago, when he ran away and into her own life? Laura was distracted by the sound of... well, it couldn’t be a toilet flushing, could it? She pushed through the door that Aurora had entered, marked Nas’ak. Aurora was standing in front of a serviceable white porcelain256 sink with running water. “That one’s sitting on my bladder,” Aurora said, smiling.
“There’s plumbing here?” Laura glanced around. On the upper lip of the bathroom stall, various items of clothing had been draped: bras and panties, long-sleeved T-shirts, socks.
“Just in the school,” Aurora said. “On any given day, the line’ll be out the door with girls waiting to wash their hair.
This is the only place it won’t freeze solid.” She gave Laura a chance to use the facilities - use wasn’t really the word as much as relish257 or give thanks for - and then they struck outside again. “Does your boyfriend live far away?” Laura asked, wondering what might happen if Daniel returned to find her missing.
“He’s just over that hill,” Aurora said, but as they crested258 the rise, Laura didn’t see any homes at all. She followed Aurora inside a picket259 fence, careful to stay on the trodden path instead of hiking through the drifts that were hip-high. In the dark, it took her a moment to realize that they were walking to the far end of a tiny cemetery260, one scattered261 with white wooden crosses that were almost entirely262 buried in snow.
Aurora stopped at a cleared grave. A name was engraved263 on the wooden cross: ARTHUR M. PETERSON, June 5, 1982-March 30, 2005. “He was mushing, but it was the end of March, and he went through the ice. His lead dog chewed through the lead and came to our house. I knew the minute I saw the dog that something was wrong, but by the time we got to the river, Art and the sled had both gone under.” She faced Laura. “Three days later I found out I was pregnant.” “I’m so sorry.” “Don’t be,” Aurora said, matter-of-fact. “He was probably drinking when he went out on the trail, like usual.” As she spoke, though, she leaned down and gently swept the cross clean of its most recent dusting of snow.
Laura turned away to give Aurora privacy and saw one other grave that had been carefully cleared. In front of the marker was a collection of ivory - full mammoth264 tusks266 and partial ones, some nearly as tall as the wooden cross. On each tusk265, numerous flowers had been carved in exquisite267 detail: roses and orchids268 and peonies, lupine and forget-me-nots and lady’s slippers269. It was a garden that had been bleached270 of its color and none of its beauty, flowers that would never die, flowers that could bloom even in the most inhospitable climate.
She imagined the artist who’d crafted these, walking through sleet271 and hail and ice storms to plant this endless garden. It was exactly the sort of romance and passion she would have expected of Seth, who had tucked poems into the flustered272 leaves of her date book and the prim273 mouth of her change purse.
Wistfully, Laura let herself imagine what it was like to be loved that deeply. She envisioned a wooden cross labeled with her own name. She saw someone fighting the elements to bring gifts to her grave. But when she pictured the man weeping over what he’d lost, it wasn’t Seth.
It was Daniel.
Laura brushed the snow off the marker, wanting to know the identity of the woman who had inspired such devotion.
“Oh, I was going to show you that one,” Aurora said, just as Laura read the name: ANNETTE STONE. Daniel’s mother.
Trixie had gone AWOL. She couldn’t say why she felt guilty about this, especially since it wasn’t like she was really supposed to be working the Tuluksak checkpoint in the first place.
She ran beside Willie in the dark, small puffs274 of her breath leaving a dissipating trail.
As promised, Willie had come back to the school, although Trixie hadn’t really expected him to. She had planned to leave his coat behind with one of the volunteers when she got ready to leave whenever and toward wherever that would be. But Willie had arrived while Trixie was still babysitting Joseph. He’d knelt down on the other side of the snoring old man and shook his head. He knew Joseph - apparently275 everyone did in an eight-village radius276, since Joseph didn’t discriminate277 when it came to where he’d go on a bender. The Yupiit called him Kingurauten - Too Late - Joseph because he’d promised a woman he’d return, only to turn up a week after she’d died.
Willie had come to invite Trixie to steam. She didn’t know what that meant, but it sounded heavenly after shivering for nearly two days straight. She’d followed Willie, tiptoeing past Joseph, past the sleeping Jesuit Volunteers, and out the front door of the school.
They ran. The night was spread like icing over the dome278 of the sky; stars kept falling at Trixie’s feet. It was hard to tell if it was the uncovered beauty of this place that took her breath away, or the seize of the cold. Willie slowed when they came to a narrow road lined with tiny homes. “Are we going to your house?” Trixie asked.
“No, my dad’s there, and when I left he was drinking. We’re going to my cousin’s. He was having a steam with some of his buddies279, but they’re leaving for a city league basketball game downriver.” Several dogs that were chained up outside houses started to bark. Willie fumbled280 for her hand, probably to get her to move faster, but if that was the intent it didn’t work. Everything slowed inside Trixie: her heartbeat, her breathing, her blood.
Although Janice had tried to tell her otherwise, Trixie had believed she would never want another guy to lay hands on her again. But when Willie touched her, she couldn’t really remember what it had felt like to touch Jason. It was almost as if one canceled out the other. She knew this: Willie’s skin was smoother than Jason’s. His hand was closer to hers in size. The muscles in his forearms weren’t thick, the product of a million slap shots - they were lean and ropy, almost sculpted281. It made no sense, given their upbringings, but she had this weird282 feeling that she and Willie were equals, that neither of them was in control, because they were both so skittish283 in each other’s company.
They stopped behind one of the houses. Through the buttery light of the windows, Trixie could see a sparse284 living room, a single couch, and a few young men putting on their coats and boots. “Come on,” Willie said, and he tugged her away.
He opened the door to a wooden shack not much bigger than an outhouse. It was divided into two rooms - they had entered the larger one; the other room lay through the closed door directly ahead of Trixie. Once the sound of his cousin’s snow machine winnowed285 away, Willie shrugged out of his coat and boots, gesturing to Trixie to do the same. “The good news is, my cousin already did all the hard work tonight - hauling water and chopping wood. He built this magi a few years ago.” “What do you do in it?” Willie grinned, and in the dark his teeth gleamed. “Sweat,” he said. “A lot. The men usually go in first, because they can handle the real heat. Women go in later.” “Then how come we’re here together?” Trixie asked.
Willie ducked his head. She knew he was blushing, even if she couldn’t see it.
“I bet you take girls here all the time,” she said, but she was only half joking, waiting for his answer.
“I’ve never been with a girl in the steam before,” Willie said, and then he shucked off his skirt. Trixie closed her eyes, but not before she saw the bright white flash of his underwear.
He opened a door and disappeared inside the adjoining room.
Trixie waited for him to come back, but he didn’t. She heard the hiss286 of rising steam.
She stared at the wooden door, wondering what was on the other side. Was he trying to show her how tough he was, by taking the real heat! What did he mean when he said that he hadn’t been with a girl in the steam before? Did he take them other places, or was that an invitation for her to follow? She felt like she had fallen into one of her father’s comic book universes, where what you said was not what you meant, and vice36 versa.
Hesitantly, Trixie pulled off her shirt. The action - and Willie’s proximityimmediately - made her think about playing strip poker287 the night of Zephyr’s party. But nobody was watching this time; there were no rules to the game; no one was telling her what she had to do. It was entirely different, she realized, when the choice was up to her.
If she went in there in her bra and panties, that was just like wearing a bikini, wasn’t it? She shivered only a moment before she opened the stunted288 door and crawled inside.
The heat slammed into her, a solid wall. It wasn’t just heat.
It was a sauna and a steam room and a bonfire all rolled together, and then ratcheted up a notch289. The floor beneath her bare feet was slick plywood. She couldn’t see, because of all the steam. As the clouds drifted, she could make out a fifty-five-gallon oil drum on its side with a fire burning hot in its belly. Rocks were nestled in birdcage wire on top, and a metal container of water sat beside it. Willie was hunkered down on the plywood, his knees drawn up to his chest, his skin red and blotched.
He didn’t say anything when he saw her, and Trixie understood why - if she opened her mouth, surely her throat would burst into flame. He wasn’t wearing anything, but the region between his thighs was only a shadow, and somehow, she was the one who felt overdressed. She sat down beside him - in that small a space there wasn’t much choice - and felt him wrapping something around her head. A rag, she realized, that had been dipped in water, to cover her ears and keep them from burning. When he knotted it, the skin of his upper arm stuck to hers.
The orange light that spilled through the cracks in the stove door illuminated290 Willie. His silhouette291 glowed, lean and feline292; at that moment, Trixie wouldn’t have been surprised to see him turn into a panther. Willie reached for a ladle, a wooden stick wired to a soup can. He dipped it into the bucket of water, pouring more over the rocks and causing a fresh cloud of steam to fill the chamber183. When he settled down beside Trixie, his hand was so close to hers on the plywood that their pinkies touched.
It hurt, almost past the point of pain. The room had a pulse, and breathing was nearly impossible. Heat rose off Trixie’s skin in the shape of her soul. Perspiration293 ran down her back and between her legs: her entire body, crying.
When Trixie’s lungs were about to explode, she ran through the door into the cold room again. She sat down on the floor, warmth rolling off her in waves, just as Willie burst in with a towel wrapped around his waist. He sank down beside her and passed her a jug294.
Trixie drank it without even knowing what was inside. The water cooled the lining295 of her throat. She passed the jug to Willie, who tipped his head back against the wall and drank deeply, the knot of his Adam’s apple following each swallow. He turned to her, grinning. “Crazy, huh?” She found herself laughing, too. “Totally.” Willie leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. “I always kind of figured that’s what Florida’s like.” “Florida? It’s nothing like this.” “You’ve been to Florida?” Willie asked, intrigued296.
“Yeah. It’s just, you know, another state.” “I’d like to see an orange growing on a tree. I’d pretty much like to see anything that’s somewhere other than here.” He turned to her. “What did you do when you went to Florida?” It was so long ago, Trixie had to think for a moment. “We went to Cape105 Canaveral. And Disney World.” Willie started picking at the wooden floor. “I bet you fit in there.” “Because it’s so tacky?” “Because you’re like that fairy. The one who hangs out with Peter Pan.” Trixie burst out laughing. “Tinker Bell?” “Yeah. My sister had that book.” She was about to tell him he was crazy, but then she remembered that Peter Pan was about a boy who didn’t want to grow up, and she decided297 she didn’t mind the comparison.
“She was so pretty,” Willie said. “She had a light inside her.” Trixie stared at him. “You think I’m pretty?” Instead of answering, Willie got up and crawled back into the hot room. By the time she followed, he’d already poured water over the rocks. Blinded by steam, she had to find her way by touch.
She drew her fingers over the rough run of the wooden floor, up the joints298 of the walls, and then she brushed the smooth curve of Willie’s shoulder. Before she could pull away, Willie’s hand came up to capture hers. He tugged her closer, until they were facing each other on their knees, in the heart of a cloud. “Yeah, you’re pretty,” Willie said.
Trixie felt like she was falling. She had ugly chopped black hair and scars up and down her arms, and it was like he didn’t even notice. She looked down at their interlaced fingers - a weave of dark and pale skin - and she let herself pretend that maybe there could be a light inside of her.
“When the first white folks came to the tundra,” Willie said, “the people here thought they were ghosts.” “Sometimes that’s what I think I am, too,” Trixie murmured.
They leaned toward each other, or maybe the steam pushed them closer. And just as Trixie was certain that there wasn’t any air left in the room, Willie’s mouth closed over hers and breathed for her.
Willie tasted like smoke and sugar. His hands settled on her shoulders, respectfully staying there even when she itched299 to have him touch her. When they drew back from each other, Willie looked down at the ground. “I’ve never done that before,” he confessed, and Trixie realized that when he’d said he’d never been with a girl in a steam, he’d meant that he’d never been with a girl.
Trixie had lost her virginity a lifetime ago, back when she
thought it was a prize to give to someone like Jason. They’d had sex countless300 times - in the backseat of his car, in his bedroom when his parents were out, in the locker157 room at the hockey rink after hours. But what she had done with him compared in no way to the kiss she had just experienced with Willie; it was impossible to draw a line to connect the two. She couldn’t even say
that her own participation301 was the common denominator, because the girl she was back then was completely different from the one here now.
Trixie leaned toward Willie, and this time, she kissed him. “Me neither,” she said, and she knew she wasn’t lying.
When Daniel was eleven, the circus had come for the first and only time to the tundra. Bethel was the last stop for the Ford219 Brothers Circus, on an unprecedented302 tour of bush Alaska. Cane and Daniel weren’t going to miss it for the world. They worked odd jobs - painting an elder’s house, putting a new roof on Cane’s uncle’s steam bath - until they each had fifteen dollars. The flyers, which had been put up in all the village schools, including Akiak, said that admission would be eight bucks, and that left plenty of money for popcorn303 and souvenirs.
Most of the village was planning to go. Daniel’s mother was going to hitch304 a ride with the principal, but at the last minute, Cane invited Daniel to go in his family’s boat. They sat in its belly, the aluminum sides cold against their backs and bottoms, and told each other elephant jokes on the way down.
Why is an elephant gray, large, and wrinkled? Because if he was small, white, and round, he’d be an aspirin305.
Why does an elephant have a trunk? Because he’d look stupid with a glove compartment306.
Six thousand people from all over the delta307 showed up, many coming just after midnight so that they could see the MarkAir Here fly in at dawn with the performers and the animals. The circus was going to take place at the National Guard Armory308 gym, with the bathrooms converted to costume changing areas. Cane and Daniel, running ragged251 around the edges of the activity, even got to hold a rope as the big top was pitched.
During the show, there were trained dogs in ratty tutus, and two lions named Lulu and Strawberry. There was a leopard309, which waited for its cue outside the big top, drinking from a mud puddle310. There was calliope music and peanuts and cotton candy, and for the little children, an inflatable house to jump in and Shetland pony311 rides. When Shorty Serra came thundering out to do rope tricks with his monstrous312 horse, Juneau, the beast stood on his hind50 legs to tower over everyone, and the crowd shrieked313. A group of Yup’ik boys sitting behind Daniel and Cane cheered, too. But when Daniel leaned over to say something to Cane, one of them spit out a slur314: “Look at that: I always knew kass’aqs belonged in the circus.” Daniel turned around. “Shut the fuck up.” One Yup’ik boy turned to another. “Did you hear something?” “Want to feel something instead?” Daniel threatened, balling his hand into a fist.
“Ignore them,” Cane said. “They’re assholes.” The ringmaster appeared, to the roar of applause. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m afraid we have some disappointing news. Our elephant, Tika, is too ill for the show. But I’m delighted to introduce . .. all the way from Madagascar . . . Florence and her Amazing Waltzing Pigeons!” A tiny woman in a flamenco skirt walked out with birds perched on each shoulder. Daniel turned to Cane. “How sick could an elephant be?” “Yeah,” Cane said. “This sucks.” One of the Yup’ik boys poked315 him. “So do you. And I guess you like white meat.” All of his life, Daniel had been teased by the village kids - for not having a father, for being kass’aq, for not knowing how to do native things like fish and hunt. Cane would hang out with him, but the Yup’ik boys in school let that slide, because after all, Cane was one of them.
These boys, though, were not from his village.
Daniel saw the look on Cane’s face and felt something break loose inside of him. He stood up, intent on leaving the big top.
“Hang on,” Cane said.
Daniel made his gaze as flat as possible. “I didn’t invite you,” he said, and he walked away.
It didn’t take him long to find the elephant, penned up in a makeshift fence with no one to watch over it. Daniel had never seen an elephant up close; it was the one thing that he had in common with kids who lived in normal places. The elephant was limping and throwing hay in the air with its trunk. Daniel ducked under the wire and walked up to the animal, moving slowly. He touched its skin, warm and craggy, and laid his cheek along the haunch.
The best part about his friendship with Cane was that Cane was an insider, and that made Daniel one by association. He’d never realized that it could go the other way, too, that their acquaintance might make Cane a pariah316. If the only way to keep Cane from being ostracized317 was to stay away from him, then Daniel would. You did what you had to, for the people you cared about.
The elephant swung its massive head toward Daniel. Its dark eye winked318; the loose-lipped drip of its mouth worked soundlessly. But Daniel could hear the animal perfectly319, and so he answered out loud: I don’t belong here either.
It was still dark out the next morning when the cargo plane arrived, puddle-jumping from village to village to pick up the dogs that had been dropped by mushers along the trail. They’d be flown back to Bethel where a handler could pick them up.
Willie was driving his cousin’s pickup320 truck to the airstrip, and Trixie was in the passenger seat. They held hands across the space between them.
In the flatbed were all of Alex Edmonds’s dogs, Juno, and Kingurauten Joseph, who was being transported back to the medical center. Willie parked the truck and then began to pass the dogs to Trixie, who walked them over to the chain-link fence and tethered them.
Every time she returned for another one, he smiled at her, and she melted as if she were back in the steam again.
Last night, after the steam had died out, Willie bathed her with a rag dipped in warm water. He’d run the makeshift sponge right over her bra and her panties. Then they’d gone back to the cold room, and he’d toweled her dry, kneeling in front of her to get the backs of her knees and between her toes before they’d dressed each other. Fastening and tucking seemed so much more intimate than unbuttoning and unzipping, as if you were privy321 to putting the person back together whole, instead of unraveling him.
“I have to take my uncle’s coat back,” Willie had said, but then he had given her his own lined canvas jacket.
It smelled like him, every time Trixie buried her nose in the collar.
The lights on the airstrip suddenly blazed, magic. Trixie whirled around, but there was no control tower anywhere nearby.
“The pilots have remotes in their planes,” Willie said, laughing, and sure enough ten minutes hadn’t passed before Trixie could hear the approach of an engine.
The plane that landed looked like the one that had flown Trixie into Bethel. The pilota Yup’ik boy not much older than Willie jumped out. “Hey,” he said. “Is this all you’ve got?” When he opened the cargo bay, Trixie could see a dozen dogs already tethered to D rings. As Willie loaded the sled dogs, she helped Joseph climb down from the back of the pickup. He leaned on her heavily as they walked to the runway, and when he stepped into the cargo bay, the animals inside started barking. “You remind me of someone I used to know,” Joseph said.
You already told me that, Trixie thought, but she just nodded at him. Maybe it wasn’t that he wanted her to hear it but only that he needed to say it again.
The pilot closed up the hatch and hopped back into his plane, accelerating down the airstrip until Trixie could not tell his landing lights apart from any given star. The airstrip blinked and went black again.
She felt Willie move closer in the dark, but before her eyes could adjust, another beacon322 came at them. It glinted directly into her eyes, had her shielding them from the glare with one hand. The snow machine pulled up, its engine growling323 before it died down completely and the driver stood up on the runners.
“Trixie?” her father said. “Is that you?”
The End
点击收听单词发音
1 fiber | |
n.纤维,纤维质 | |
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2 indigenous | |
adj.土产的,土生土长的,本地的 | |
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3 forensic | |
adj.法庭的,雄辩的 | |
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4 bodyguard | |
n.护卫,保镖 | |
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5 salon | |
n.[法]沙龙;客厅;营业性的高级服务室 | |
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6 languishing | |
a. 衰弱下去的 | |
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7 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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8 alder | |
n.赤杨树 | |
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9 pate | |
n.头顶;光顶 | |
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10 cuticle | |
n.表皮 | |
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11 pigment | |
n.天然色素,干粉颜料 | |
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12 pinpoint | |
vt.准确地确定;用针标出…的精确位置 | |
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13 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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14 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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15 shaft | |
n.(工具的)柄,杆状物 | |
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16 relatively | |
adv.比较...地,相对地 | |
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17 texture | |
n.(织物)质地;(材料)构造;结构;肌理 | |
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18 hue | |
n.色度;色调;样子 | |
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19 intensity | |
n.强烈,剧烈;强度;烈度 | |
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20 conclusively | |
adv.令人信服地,确凿地 | |
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21 disappearance | |
n.消失,消散,失踪 | |
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22 DNA | |
(缩)deoxyribonucleic acid 脱氧核糖核酸 | |
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23 scribbled | |
v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 );乱画;草草地写;匆匆记下 | |
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24 lulled | |
vt.使镇静,使安静(lull的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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25 awareness | |
n.意识,觉悟,懂事,明智 | |
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26 owl | |
n.猫头鹰,枭 | |
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27 jack | |
n.插座,千斤顶,男人;v.抬起,提醒,扛举;n.(Jake)杰克 | |
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28 villains | |
n.恶棍( villain的名词复数 );罪犯;(小说、戏剧等中的)反面人物;淘气鬼 | |
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29 itch | |
n.痒,渴望,疥癣;vi.发痒,渴望 | |
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30 fangs | |
n.(尤指狗和狼的)长而尖的牙( fang的名词复数 );(蛇的)毒牙;罐座 | |
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31 demon | |
n.魔鬼,恶魔 | |
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32 clenching | |
v.紧握,抓紧,咬紧( clench的现在分词 ) | |
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33 jaw | |
n.颚,颌,说教,流言蜚语;v.喋喋不休,教训 | |
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34 pry | |
vi.窥(刺)探,打听;vt.撬动(开,起) | |
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35 rummaging | |
翻找,搜寻( rummage的现在分词 ); 海关检查 | |
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36 vice | |
n.坏事;恶习;[pl.]台钳,老虎钳;adj.副的 | |
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37 tightened | |
收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 ); (使)变紧; (使)绷紧; 加紧 | |
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38 awning | |
n.遮阳篷;雨篷 | |
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39 slits | |
n.狭长的口子,裂缝( slit的名词复数 )v.切开,撕开( slit的第三人称单数 );在…上开狭长口子 | |
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40 gashes | |
n.深长的切口(或伤口)( gash的名词复数 )v.划伤,割破( gash的第三人称单数 ) | |
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41 crouch | |
v.蹲伏,蜷缩,低头弯腰;n.蹲伏 | |
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42 crouched | |
v.屈膝,蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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43 lighter | |
n.打火机,点火器;驳船;v.用驳船运送;light的比较级 | |
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44 literally | |
adv.照字面意义,逐字地;确实 | |
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45 mittens | |
不分指手套 | |
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46 shrugged | |
vt.耸肩(shrug的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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47 crunching | |
v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的现在分词 );嘎吱作响;(快速大量地)处理信息;数字捣弄 | |
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48 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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49 platinum | |
n.白金 | |
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50 hind | |
adj.后面的,后部的 | |
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51 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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52 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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53 pulverized | |
adj.[医]雾化的,粉末状的v.将…弄碎( pulverize的过去式和过去分词 );将…弄成粉末或尘埃;摧毁;粉碎 | |
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54 saliva | |
n.唾液,口水 | |
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55 scrutinized | |
v.仔细检查,详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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56 nucleus | |
n.核,核心,原子核 | |
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57 functional | |
adj.为实用而设计的,具备功能的,起作用的 | |
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58 discriminating | |
a.有辨别能力的 | |
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59 siblings | |
n.兄弟,姐妹( sibling的名词复数 ) | |
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60 sperm | |
n.精子,精液 | |
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61 investigation | |
n.调查,调查研究 | |
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62 statistically | |
ad.根据统计数据来看,从统计学的观点来看 | |
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63 strand | |
vt.使(船)搁浅,使(某人)困于(某地) | |
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64 awfully | |
adv.可怕地,非常地,极端地 | |
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65 tundra | |
n.苔原,冻土地带 | |
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66 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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67 cargo | |
n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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68 hood | |
n.头巾,兜帽,覆盖;v.罩上,以头巾覆盖 | |
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69 tug | |
v.用力拖(或拉);苦干;n.拖;苦干;拖船 | |
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70 tugged | |
v.用力拉,使劲拉,猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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71 strings | |
n.弦 | |
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72 squat | |
v.蹲坐,蹲下;n.蹲下;adj.矮胖的,粗矮的 | |
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73 lone | |
adj.孤寂的,单独的;唯一的 | |
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74 detector | |
n.发觉者,探测器 | |
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75 ward | |
n.守卫,监护,病房,行政区,由监护人或法院保护的人(尤指儿童);vt.守护,躲开 | |
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76 doorway | |
n.门口,(喻)入门;门路,途径 | |
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77 random | |
adj.随机的;任意的;n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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78 oracles | |
神示所( oracle的名词复数 ); 神谕; 圣贤; 哲人 | |
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79 justify | |
vt.证明…正当(或有理),为…辩护 | |
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80 burrow | |
vt.挖掘(洞穴);钻进;vi.挖洞;翻寻;n.地洞 | |
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81 fanfare | |
n.喇叭;号角之声;v.热闹地宣布 | |
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82 underneath | |
adj.在...下面,在...底下;adv.在下面 | |
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83 nostrils | |
鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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84 lashes | |
n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 );鞭子;突然猛烈的一击;急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 );煽动;紧系;怒斥 | |
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85 gnawed | |
咬( gnaw的过去式和过去分词 ); (长时间) 折磨某人; (使)苦恼; (长时间)危害某事物 | |
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86 swollen | |
adj.肿大的,水涨的;v.使变大,肿胀 | |
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87 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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88 scoffed | |
嘲笑,嘲弄( scoff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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89 huddle | |
vi.挤作一团;蜷缩;vt.聚集;n.挤在一起的人 | |
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90 abruptly | |
adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
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91 differentiated | |
区分,区别,辨别( differentiate的过去式和过去分词 ); 区别对待; 表明…间的差别,构成…间差别的特征 | |
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92 peeked | |
v.很快地看( peek的过去式和过去分词 );偷看;窥视;微露出 | |
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93 flexed | |
adj.[医]曲折的,屈曲v.屈曲( flex的过去式和过去分词 );弯曲;(为准备大干而)显示实力;摩拳擦掌 | |
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94 pistons | |
活塞( piston的名词复数 ) | |
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95 hopping | |
n. 跳跃 动词hop的现在分词形式 | |
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96 rustle | |
v.沙沙作响;偷盗(牛、马等);n.沙沙声声 | |
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97 stiffened | |
加强的 | |
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98 inferno | |
n.火海;地狱般的场所 | |
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99 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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100 rape | |
n.抢夺,掠夺,强奸;vt.掠夺,抢夺,强奸 | |
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101 rattle | |
v.飞奔,碰响;激怒;n.碰撞声;拨浪鼓 | |
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102 technically | |
adv.专门地,技术上地 | |
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103 avalanche | |
n.雪崩,大量涌来 | |
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104 yolk | |
n.蛋黄,卵黄 | |
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105 cape | |
n.海角,岬;披肩,短披风 | |
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106 opaque | |
adj.不透光的;不反光的,不传导的;晦涩的 | |
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107 shack | |
adj.简陋的小屋,窝棚 | |
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108 shacks | |
n.窝棚,简陋的小屋( shack的名词复数 ) | |
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109 alligator | |
n.短吻鳄(一种鳄鱼) | |
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110 radar | |
n.雷达,无线电探测器 | |
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111 ravens | |
n.低质煤;渡鸦( raven的名词复数 ) | |
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112 renovated | |
翻新,修复,整修( renovate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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113 verge | |
n.边,边缘;v.接近,濒临 | |
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114 condemned | |
adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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115 recesses | |
n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 );(工作或业务活动的)中止或暂停期间;学校的课间休息;某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 );将(墙)做成凹形,在(墙)上做壁龛;休息,休会,休庭 | |
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116 aisle | |
n.(教堂、教室、戏院等里的)过道,通道 | |
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117 corporate | |
adj.共同的,全体的;公司的,企业的 | |
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118 kennels | |
n.主人外出时的小动物寄养处,养狗场;狗窝( kennel的名词复数 );养狗场 | |
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119 giggling | |
v.咯咯地笑( giggle的现在分词 ) | |
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120 stews | |
n.炖煮的菜肴( stew的名词复数 );烦恼,焦虑v.炖( stew的第三人称单数 );煨;思考;担忧 | |
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121 pendulously | |
吊着的,下垂的,摆动的; 摆式; 悬垂 | |
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122 navigating | |
v.给(船舶、飞机等)引航,导航( navigate的现在分词 );(从海上、空中等)横越;横渡;飞跃 | |
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123 frustrated | |
adj.挫败的,失意的,泄气的v.使不成功( frustrate的过去式和过去分词 );挫败;使受挫折;令人沮丧 | |
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124 impatience | |
n.不耐烦,急躁 | |
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125 elastic | |
n.橡皮圈,松紧带;adj.有弹性的;灵活的 | |
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126 flannel | |
n.法兰绒;法兰绒衣服 | |
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127 syllables | |
n.音节( syllable的名词复数 ) | |
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128 amazement | |
n.惊奇,惊讶 | |
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129 thorny | |
adj.多刺的,棘手的 | |
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130 casually | |
adv.漠不关心地,无动于衷地,不负责任地 | |
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131 furrow | |
n.沟;垄沟;轨迹;车辙;皱纹 | |
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132 tightening | |
上紧,固定,紧密 | |
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133 actively | |
adv.积极地,勤奋地 | |
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134 racing | |
n.竞赛,赛马;adj.竞赛用的,赛马用的 | |
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135 mandatory | |
adj.命令的;强制的;义务的;n.受托者 | |
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136 vet | |
n.兽医,退役军人;vt.检查 | |
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137 awakened | |
v.(使)醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 );(使)觉醒;弄醒;(使)意识到 | |
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138 raped | |
v.以暴力夺取,强夺( rape的过去式和过去分词 );强奸 | |
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139 thigh | |
n.大腿;股骨 | |
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140 finesse | |
n.精密技巧,灵巧,手腕 | |
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141 trophy | |
n.优胜旗,奖品,奖杯,战胜品,纪念品 | |
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142 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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143 orientation | |
n.方向,目标;熟悉,适应,情况介绍 | |
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144 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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145 beaver | |
n.海狸,河狸 | |
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146 conjured | |
用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 ); 祈求,恳求; 变戏法; (变魔术般地) 使…出现 | |
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147 smirked | |
v.傻笑( smirk的过去分词 ) | |
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148 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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149 zipper | |
n.拉链;v.拉上拉链 | |
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150 sketched | |
v.草拟(sketch的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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151 spun | |
v.纺,杜撰,急转身 | |
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152 punctuation | |
n.标点符号,标点法 | |
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153 brutal | |
adj.残忍的,野蛮的,不讲理的 | |
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154 halfway | |
adj.中途的,不彻底的,部分的;adv.半路地,在中途,在半途 | |
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155 hopped | |
跳上[下]( hop的过去式和过去分词 ); 单足蹦跳; 齐足(或双足)跳行; 摘葎草花 | |
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156 lockers | |
n.寄物柜( locker的名词复数 ) | |
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157 locker | |
n.更衣箱,储物柜,冷藏室,上锁的人 | |
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158 devour | |
v.吞没;贪婪地注视或谛听,贪读;使着迷 | |
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159 qualified | |
adj.合格的,有资格的,胜任的,有限制的 | |
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160 stammered | |
v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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161 leash | |
n.牵狗的皮带,束缚;v.用皮带系住 | |
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162 cozy | |
adj.亲如手足的,密切的,暖和舒服的 | |
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163 energized | |
v.给予…精力,能量( energize的过去式和过去分词 );使通电 | |
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164 tangle | |
n.纠缠;缠结;混乱;v.(使)缠绕;变乱 | |
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165 mittened | |
v.(使)变得潮湿,变得湿润( moisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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166 fend | |
v.照料(自己),(自己)谋生,挡开,避开 | |
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167 tugging | |
n.牵引感v.用力拉,使劲拉,猛扯( tug的现在分词 ) | |
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168 reeked | |
v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的过去式和过去分词 );散发臭气;发出难闻的气味 (of sth);明显带有(令人不快或生疑的跡象) | |
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169 bucks | |
n.雄鹿( buck的名词复数 );钱;(英国十九世纪初的)花花公子;(用于某些表达方式)责任v.(马等)猛然弓背跃起( buck的第三人称单数 );抵制;猛然震荡;马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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170 onlookers | |
n.旁观者,观看者( onlooker的名词复数 ) | |
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171 dispersed | |
adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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172 rusted | |
v.(使)生锈( rust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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173 goggles | |
n.护目镜 | |
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174 brace | |
n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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175 stationary | |
adj.固定的,静止不动的 | |
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176 thighs | |
n.股,大腿( thigh的名词复数 );食用的鸡(等的)腿 | |
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177 bug | |
n.虫子;故障;窃听器;vt.纠缠;装窃听器 | |
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178 rental | |
n.租赁,出租,出租业 | |
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179 aluminum | |
n.(aluminium)铝 | |
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180 metallic | |
adj.金属的;金属制的;含金属的;产金属的;像金属的 | |
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181 eyebrows | |
眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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182 frigid | |
adj.寒冷的,凛冽的;冷淡的;拘禁的 | |
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183 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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184 linoleum | |
n.油布,油毯 | |
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185 severed | |
v.切断,断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 );断,裂 | |
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186 hoof | |
n.(马,牛等的)蹄 | |
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187 ribs | |
n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 );(船或屋顶等的)肋拱;肋骨状的东西;(织物的)凸条花纹 | |
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188 cane | |
n.手杖,细长的茎,藤条;v.以杖击,以藤编制的 | |
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189 deference | |
n.尊重,顺从;敬意 | |
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190 creased | |
(使…)起折痕,弄皱( crease的过去式和过去分词 ); (皮肤)皱起,使起皱纹; 皱皱巴巴 | |
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191 cataracts | |
n.大瀑布( cataract的名词复数 );白内障 | |
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192 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
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193 illustrate | |
v.举例说明,阐明;图解,加插图 | |
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194 catching | |
adj.易传染的,有魅力的,迷人的,接住 | |
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195 aurora | |
n.极光 | |
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196 feverishly | |
adv. 兴奋地 | |
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197 lures | |
吸引力,魅力(lure的复数形式) | |
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198 tacked | |
用平头钉钉( tack的过去式和过去分词 ); 附加,增补; 帆船抢风行驶,用粗线脚缝 | |
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199 paraphernalia | |
n.装备;随身用品 | |
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200 plaques | |
(纪念性的)匾牌( plaque的名词复数 ); 纪念匾; 牙斑; 空斑 | |
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201 irony | |
n.反语,冷嘲;具有讽刺意味的事,嘲弄 | |
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202 bode | |
v.预示 | |
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203 jolted | |
(使)摇动, (使)震惊( jolt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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204 unfamiliar | |
adj.陌生的,不熟悉的 | |
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205 flattened | |
[医](水)平扁的,弄平的 | |
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206 ERECTED | |
adj. 直立的,竖立的,笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立,建立 | |
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207 squatted | |
v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 );非法擅自占用(土地或房屋);为获得其所有权;而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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208 overflowing | |
n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的,充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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209 thrifty | |
adj.节俭的;兴旺的;健壮的 | |
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210 plumbing | |
n.水管装置;水暖工的工作;管道工程v.用铅锤测量(plumb的现在分词);探究 | |
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211 odds | |
n.让步,机率,可能性,比率;胜败优劣之别 | |
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212 validated | |
v.证实( validate的过去式和过去分词 );确证;使生效;使有法律效力 | |
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213 addicted | |
adj.沉溺于....的,对...上瘾的 | |
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214 feud | |
n.长期不和;世仇;v.长期争斗;世代结仇 | |
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215 dividends | |
红利( dividend的名词复数 ); 股息; 被除数; (足球彩票的)彩金 | |
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216 caribou | |
n.北美驯鹿 | |
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217 salmon | |
n.鲑,大马哈鱼,橙红色的 | |
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218 wireless | |
adj.无线的;n.无线电 | |
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219 Ford | |
n.浅滩,水浅可涉处;v.涉水,涉过 | |
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220 hoop | |
n.(篮球)篮圈,篮 | |
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221 hummock | |
n.小丘 | |
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222 clatter | |
v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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223 stark | |
adj.荒凉的;严酷的;完全的;adv.完全地 | |
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224 jettisoned | |
v.抛弃,丢弃( jettison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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225 personalities | |
n. 诽谤,(对某人容貌、性格等所进行的)人身攻击; 人身攻击;人格, 个性, 名人( personality的名词复数 ) | |
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226 denizens | |
n.居民,住户( denizen的名词复数 ) | |
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227 scattering | |
n.[物]散射;散乱,分散;在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的;分散在不同范围的;广泛扩散的;(选票)数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式);散布;驱散 | |
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228 ironic | |
adj.讽刺的,有讽刺意味的,出乎意料的 | |
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229 metropolis | |
n.首府;大城市 | |
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230 snare | |
n.陷阱,诱惑,圈套;(去除息肉或者肿瘤的)勒除器;响弦,小军鼓;vt.以陷阱捕获,诱惑 | |
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231 sagging | |
下垂[沉,陷],松垂,垂度 | |
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232 carving | |
n.雕刻品,雕花 | |
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233 rotation | |
n.旋转;循环,轮流 | |
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234 chiseled | |
adj.凿刻的,轮廓分明的v.凿,雕,镌( chisel的过去式 ) | |
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235 calloused | |
adj.粗糙的,粗硬的,起老茧的v.(使)硬结,(使)起茧( callous的过去式和过去分词 );(使)冷酷无情 | |
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236 laborer | |
n.劳动者,劳工 | |
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237 juveniles | |
n.青少年( juvenile的名词复数 );扮演少年角色的演员;未成年人 | |
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238 sockets | |
n.套接字,使应用程序能够读写与收发通讯协定(protocol)与资料的程序( Socket的名词复数 );孔( socket的名词复数 );(电器上的)插口;托座;凹穴 | |
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239 scrutinizing | |
v.仔细检查,详审( scrutinize的现在分词 ) | |
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240 potent | |
adj.强有力的,有权势的;有效力的 | |
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241 fumes | |
n.(强烈而刺激的)气味,气体 | |
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242 evergreen | |
n.常青树;adj.四季常青的 | |
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243 harp | |
n.竖琴;天琴座 | |
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244 belly | |
n.肚子,腹部;(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分,膛 | |
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245 lighting | |
n.照明,光线的明暗,舞台灯光 | |
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246 velvet | |
n.丝绒,天鹅绒;adj.丝绒制的,柔软的 | |
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247 streaked | |
adj.有条斑纹的,不安的v.快速移动( streak的过去式和过去分词 );使布满条纹 | |
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248 scouts | |
侦察员[机,舰]( scout的名词复数 ); 童子军; 搜索; 童子军成员 | |
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249 twig | |
n.小树枝,嫩枝;v.理解 | |
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250 undo | |
vt.解开,松开;取消,撤销 | |
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251 ragged | |
adj.衣衫褴褛的,粗糙的,刺耳的 | |
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252 clattered | |
发出咔哒声(clatter的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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253 ramp | |
n.暴怒,斜坡,坡道;vi.作恐吓姿势,暴怒,加速;vt.加速 | |
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254 flipped | |
轻弹( flip的过去式和过去分词 ); 按(开关); 快速翻转; 急挥 | |
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255 retrace | |
v.折回;追溯,探源 | |
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256 porcelain | |
n.瓷;adj.瓷的,瓷制的 | |
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257 relish | |
n.滋味,享受,爱好,调味品;vt.加调味料,享受,品味;vi.有滋味 | |
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258 crested | |
adj.有顶饰的,有纹章的,有冠毛的v.到达山顶(或浪峰)( crest的过去式和过去分词 );到达洪峰,达到顶点 | |
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259 picket | |
n.纠察队;警戒哨;v.设置纠察线;布置警卫 | |
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260 cemetery | |
n.坟墓,墓地,坟场 | |
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261 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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262 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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263 engraved | |
v.在(硬物)上雕刻(字,画等)( engrave的过去式和过去分词 );将某事物深深印在(记忆或头脑中) | |
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264 mammoth | |
n.长毛象;adj.长毛象似的,巨大的 | |
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265 tusk | |
n.獠牙,长牙,象牙 | |
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266 tusks | |
n.(象等动物的)长牙( tusk的名词复数 );獠牙;尖形物;尖头 | |
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267 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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268 orchids | |
n.兰花( orchid的名词复数 ) | |
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269 slippers | |
n. 拖鞋 | |
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270 bleached | |
漂白的,晒白的,颜色变浅的 | |
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271 sleet | |
n.雨雪;v.下雨雪,下冰雹 | |
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272 flustered | |
adj.慌张的;激动不安的v.使慌乱,使不安( fluster的过去式和过去分词) | |
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273 prim | |
adj.拘泥形式的,一本正经的;n.循规蹈矩,整洁;adv.循规蹈矩地,整洁地 | |
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274 puffs | |
n.吸( puff的名词复数 );(烟斗或香烟的)一吸;一缕(烟、蒸汽等);(呼吸或风的)呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 );喷着汽(或烟)移动;吹嘘;吹捧 | |
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275 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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276 radius | |
n.半径,半径范围;有效航程,范围,界限 | |
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277 discriminate | |
v.区别,辨别,区分;有区别地对待 | |
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278 dome | |
n.圆屋顶,拱顶 | |
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279 buddies | |
n.密友( buddy的名词复数 );同伴;弟兄;(用于称呼男子,常带怒气)家伙v.(如密友、战友、伙伴、弟兄般)交往( buddy的第三人称单数 );做朋友;亲近(…);伴护艾滋病人 | |
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280 fumbled | |
(笨拙地)摸索或处理(某事物)( fumble的过去式和过去分词 ); 乱摸,笨拙地弄; 使落下 | |
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281 sculpted | |
adj.经雕塑的 | |
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282 weird | |
adj.古怪的,离奇的;怪诞的,神秘而可怕的 | |
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283 skittish | |
adj.易激动的,轻佻的 | |
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284 sparse | |
adj.稀疏的,稀稀落落的,薄的 | |
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285 winnowed | |
adj.扬净的,风选的v.扬( winnow的过去式和过去分词 );辨别;选择;除去 | |
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286 hiss | |
v.发出嘶嘶声;发嘘声表示不满 | |
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287 poker | |
n.扑克;vt.烙制 | |
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288 stunted | |
adj.矮小的;发育迟缓的 | |
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289 notch | |
n.(V字形)槽口,缺口,等级 | |
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290 illuminated | |
adj.被照明的;受启迪的 | |
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291 silhouette | |
n.黑色半身侧面影,影子,轮廓;v.描绘成侧面影,照出影子来,仅仅显出轮廓 | |
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292 feline | |
adj.猫科的 | |
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293 perspiration | |
n.汗水;出汗 | |
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294 jug | |
n.(有柄,小口,可盛水等的)大壶,罐,盂 | |
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295 lining | |
n.衬里,衬料 | |
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296 intrigued | |
adj.好奇的,被迷住了的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的过去式);激起…的兴趣或好奇心;“intrigue”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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297 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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298 joints | |
接头( joint的名词复数 ); 关节; 公共场所(尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所) (非正式); 一块烤肉 (英式英语) | |
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299 itched | |
v.发痒( itch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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300 countless | |
adj.无数的,多得不计其数的 | |
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301 participation | |
n.参与,参加,分享 | |
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302 unprecedented | |
adj.无前例的,新奇的 | |
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303 popcorn | |
n.爆米花 | |
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304 hitch | |
v.免费搭(车旅行);系住;急提;n.故障;急拉 | |
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305 aspirin | |
n.阿司匹林 | |
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306 compartment | |
n.卧车包房,隔间;分隔的空间 | |
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307 delta | |
n.(流的)角洲 | |
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308 armory | |
n.纹章,兵工厂,军械库 | |
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309 leopard | |
n.豹 | |
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310 puddle | |
n.(雨)水坑,泥潭 | |
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311 pony | |
adj.小型的;n.小马 | |
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312 monstrous | |
adj.巨大的;恐怖的;可耻的,丢脸的 | |
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313 shrieked | |
v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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314 slur | |
v.含糊地说;诋毁;连唱;n.诋毁;含糊的发音 | |
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315 poked | |
v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 );戳出;拨弄;与(某人)性交 | |
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316 pariah | |
n.被社会抛弃者 | |
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317 ostracized | |
v.放逐( ostracize的过去式和过去分词 );流放;摈弃;排斥 | |
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318 winked | |
v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 );递眼色(表示友好或高兴等);(指光)闪烁;闪亮 | |
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319 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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320 pickup | |
n.拾起,获得 | |
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321 privy | |
adj.私用的;隐密的 | |
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322 beacon | |
n.烽火,(警告用的)闪火灯,灯塔 | |
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323 growling | |
n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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