The Man with No Name
( Part Twenty-Six: Heart of Gold )
A man can survive for weeks without food, but he cannot live for several days without water.
Piper presses a damp cloth against his head; his forehead is so hot that the cold water becomes lukewarm in a matter of minutes and she has to re-soak it again. He prefers it this way, the benevolent solitude of the hotel room, the cherry-blossom rays of sun peeping through the blinds, the pattern of shadows on her concerned face.
She talks too much; talks about all his mistakes, his lack of control and his display of recklessness in the bar last night. Sighing, as if she does not know what to do with such a big child, she reaches behind her back and applies some medicinal balm to his lips. Piper. The girl who is always prepared.
He tries to tell her 'thank you' but his tongue lolls around helplessly in his mouth like flopping salmon on the rocks. Dark Ace pats all the sections of his purple face and winces at the tenderness of his skin. Ah, so that's why he can't speak. His upper lip is swollen.
"That must hurt something awful," she says, twisting the cap back on the salve and removes the washcloth from his brow. As she squeezes the excess water out, the droplets tinkle in his ear, similar to that of wind chimes as they hit the bottom of the hand basin. The sweetest sound in the world.
"I guess I'm stuck with you all day."
Twenty-four hours alone with her. The trade-off isn't so bad.