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body.
    "Stop, Jim!"
    She hadn't screamed, nor panicked. The sweaty miner now had
Jason's arm in a pretzel twist and was pulling it upward. The pain was agony.
Turning, he saw a fist fly out and swat her back to the bed like an annoying
fly. Undaunted, she came back again, pulling at the arm that was inflicting his
punishment.
    Loosening his grip, the man slipped off of him to
concentrate on the girl, punching her in the midsection and the face.
    "Are you crazy? You'll kill her," he shouted in
disbelief. He got up unsteadily, somehow finding the strength to pull him off
her. Apparently, his anger was spent. Lowering his fists, he watched the girl
slowly move her arms, raised in self-protection. A blue nob was rising on her
cheekbones and blood trickled down her nose.
    Grimy with coal dust and unshaven, the man turned and
inspected Jason's nakedness. His face broke into a sardonic smile. Oozing
sweat, he filled the room with his sour, unwashed odor.
    "Cunt." he hissed, looking at her, but his animal
anger was drained.
    "He gave me a hundred, Jimbo," she said softly.
Her voice was clear, without a whimper or a trace of judgment. "I was
going to get you a present."
    "You didin ask," he said harshly, showing the
true core of his discontent. "And you didin pick me up."
    "I fell asleep."
    "Sheet," he said, clearing his throat and
spitting on the floor.
    Jason hadn't yet given her the money. And now his reactions
were confused--the trip from paradise to hell had been too abrupt.
    "You let him beat you like that?" he asked
quietly. The man turned to him and sneered.
    "He didn't mean any harm," she said, standing up
now. In the quickening daylight, he could see the redness of her flesh where
he'd pummelled her.
    "I tole you," the man said, pointing a finger at
her nose.
    She lowered her head like a punished child. This is
incredible, Jason thought, like the ritual of some foreign tribe.
    "I ain't takin' you back no more," he said,
waving a finger, the nail topped with its black half moon symbol. Then, as
quickly as he came he left, leaving them staring after him, frozen, naked
figures. They heard him gun the motor of the pickup angrily. Tires squealed and
the truck sped off.
    After he'd gone, the girl slipped into the bathroom,
leaving the door ajar. He saw her clean up her puffed face, then step into the
shower.
    Sitting on the edge of the bed, he tried to understand this
new spectrum of emotions. Her docility blunted his compassion. Was it some kind
of environmental aberration? The area itself had a burned out feel about it, a
sense of futility and resignation. Not at all like Washington, with its frantic
striving, its ambitious arrogance, its self-serving subterfuge. There was
something about this place that was raw and basic.
    She came out of the shower wrapped in a towel, her hair
moist and glistening, wearing her wounds with disinterest. She seemed devoid of
pride or vanity and he viewed her like some new anthropological discovery.
    "Did he ever do that before?" Jason asked.
    "Never." She paused thoughtfully and shrugged.
"Maybe he's telling me it's time to split."
    "Isn't that a strange way of saying it?"
    "I guess," she said.
    She curled up on the bed and fell into a deep sleep, her
face immobile as if all memory of the past few minutes had been obliterated.
    Sometime later the telephone rang, jarring him out of his
own deep sleep.
    "You up?" the voice said. It was Barrows, an
assistant editor.
    "Up now," he groaned. The girl beside him didn't
stir. He shook his head, remembering. His pained shoulder told him it
definitely was not a dream.
    "Your piece," Barrows said. He wasn't one for
small talk. "Too unbalanced. You say there's money up there now that oil
companies are taking over." He waited in silence, refusing to fill the
gap. "So why the absence of hope?"
    "Hope." He blinked and looked at the mouthpiece.
    "You said there's more dough coming in. Then why is it
so bleak and hopeless?"
    "It's the work. The darkness. The