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.Along the way, they'd seen vehicles abandoned in rest areas and ditches.A twelve-wheeler, like a pair ofmating mastodons downed by a bazooka, was jackknifed across the median.Patrol cars slipped and slidpast them with sirens wailing and spooky-blue flashers frenetically rotating.Lib had kept the tachometer needle hovering between forty and forty-five, but even these modestspeeds, given roadway conditions and the incompetence or timidity of some of the other drivers, hadoften bordered on the daredevilish.Fortunately, because Texas and New Mexico were statesaccustomed to bad weather, Libby and Bo had also seen snowplows at work and tow trucks helpingthose who had miscalculated either the slipperiness of the sheeted-over asphalt or the acuity of their ownreflexes.By six o'clock -- five, Mountain Time -- they reached Raton.After the desolation northwest of Dumas(outside of which Lib had tried to find the ranch belonging to Gary's boss), the roadside sprawl of Ratonseemed a lantern-lit metropolis.Libby stopped for gas; the attendant told her that if they tried the passtonight, they might end up back in Raton looking for a motel room."Is the pass closed?""No, ma'am.But traffic keeps backin' up, and the troopers up there'd rather you stop for the night thanrisk stalling out.""My car will pull the grade," Bo told the attendant, who wore a hooded parka and trousers with cuffsballooning atop his galoshes.In this garb, he was as anonymous as a scarecrow.Libby said, "Don't you think we'll make it?""Where you going?""Snowy Falls.It's only another eighty miles.""Sure you want to try it tonight?""Why wouldn't we?" Bo said."You got a brother in the hostelry business or something?""Beat it, jackass," the man said, stepping back and waving them impatiently through.Libby hurried toobey.The attendant stalked off to the warmth of his office.Meanwhile, twilight had begun to crosshatch the sky above Raton and the cold to take on a damp aldente feel."You just insulted a guy who was trying to help us."Libby knew why they seldom talked while driving: Bo's cynical negativity.Today, for instance, all theirexchanges -- not many, really -- had focused on the precariousness of travel conditions and the sinisterbeauty of the blowing snow."He'll survive," Bo said.But he knew that Libby was right and that he had questioned the man's motivesbecause he had been riding all day with the relentless oppressiveness not only of the snow, but of Libby'sunspoken censure.He was trapped with her disapproval, just as they were each trapped in his car.* * *Bo's Mazda did not pull the grade at Raton Pass.Not at once, anyway, for north of the city they sat in aqueue of cars, semis, and buses stretching toward the summit like a gaggle of impatient skiers waiting forrepairs to a stalled lift.The engines idling in this shady slant of I-25 were exhausting fragile plumes of vapor.Along with thegusting snow, these plumes had turned the steep corridor between New Mexico and Colorado into analley of surreal wraiths and gritty noise.Motors growled, tires lost and regained traction, horns blared, and more than one driver rolled down awindow to shout curses at motorists nearer the summit.Finally nine spaces up the defile, a New Mexico state trooper showed up on foot beside the long train ofhalted traffic, stopping at each driver's window with a message.Lib cracked the window for him,catching the in-draft like a slap from an icy towel.The trooper explained that only a few minutes ago a number of vehicles near the summit had collided in amessy chain reaction, tangling themselves across both lanes.If folks were patient, the untangling wouldn'ttake too long and everyone could cautiously proceed.If, however, folks tried to hurry things, trooperswould cite the troublemakers and delay them further.Did Libby and Bo understand?"Yes, sir," Libby replied, and the hawk-faced trooper, exhaling smoke, walked stiffly down to the nextcar.Silently Bo and Libby sat beneath the twilit wedge capping the pass.They kept their engine running forthe same reason everyone else did -- so the heater would work.So near to Snowy Falls, Libby mused, but so damn far.And I'm taking a stranger home to live with me-- a sick stranger.I knew him better, or thought I did, two nights ago in Carrie Plourde's house.Beforehis confession.Before he admitted his unattractive cowardice.But there's no turning back now.We'restuck here on the slope of Raton Pass, and we can't turn around.Once we hit the downside intoColorado, our lives will be changed forever, mine and his both.So this cold mountain pass is also a passinto a new way of facing life, of imagining reality."Looking for a way out?" Bo asked.Startled, Libby said, "The trooper told us to be patient.""I meant, Are you sorry you came after me?""I don't know.Are you sorry you let me collect you?""No.Grateful.Worried.A bit pissed at you for peeking at me sideways all day as if I were a warcriminal.""It's not for your -- uh, orientation, Bo.It's for running out on someone who loved you -- the samereason I often think of Good Old Gary as Genghis Quarrels.""You say it's not for my 'uh, orientation.' But my running out on Keith lets you justify your secrethomophobia under the guise of deploring my behavior toward my lover.""I do deplore it.""I know you do.But not just that behavior.All of it.""Absolutely not.The way you treated Keith.""You may believe that, but until I told you how I'd fucked him over, you had no excuse, given your SaintJoan Baez self-image, to see me as.well, as Genghis Gavin.Now, though, you do.You can unclosetyour secret homophobia.""What's all this 'secret homophobia' crap? I don't hate gays; I don't want to exile them all to Iceland."" 'Them'? One of them is sitting right next to you, m'lady; the least you can do is say, 'I don't want todeport you.' Which is what I mean by all the secret homophobia crap.Namely, that you're inwardlydenying the very thing that my AIDS -- a great chance for you to prove your broad-mindedness --undeniably proclaims about my life-style and values.""You should have been a psychoanalyst.You're full of all the obligatory bullshit.""You should see one.You're full of all the neurotic bullshit they're trained to purge.""Why go to one? They cost.You're doing me for free." Libby shuddered.Bo was getting to her.Their disagreement, even with the heater whirring, had begun to milk-glaze the windows."May I ask you a personal question?""Where would I go to escape it?" Libby said resignedly."Have you ever gone to bed with another woman? And if not, can you imagine doing so?""No!" Her reply was emphatic.She couldn't imagine.what Bo said.She knew that some womenmight be able to -- and did -- but it had never seemed a viable option to her.Not, at least, on the rareoccasions she had found herself speculating along such sordid, scarily fascinating lines."I believe you," Bo said."Why would I lie?""But the way you said no proves your repressed homophobia.""Anyone who isn't bi or homo is a secret hater of both?""Not a hater of, m'lady, but a person who strongly disapproves and is fearful of them, yes.More oftenthan not.""You think I'm afraid of you? Because you're gay not because you have AIDS?""You're afraid of what I am -- because you disapprove of it and secretly fear becoming that which youdon't approve [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]