Yet his fingers are still wrapped around the rifle in his lap, as if the weapon is part of his body, an extension of his limbs. All evening the others have been watching him, and I know Richard’s tempted to wrestle control of that gun, but even a half-asleep Johnny is too formidable to tangle with. Since Isao’s death, Johnny has caught only snatches of sleep during the day and he’s determined to stay awake all night. If he keeps this up, in another few days he will be either catatonic or insane.Either way, he’ll be the one with the gun.I look at the faces around the fire. Sylvia and Vivian huddle together, their blond hair equally tangled, faces equally tight with worry. It’s strange, what the bush does to even beautiful women. It strips them of all superficial gloss, dulls their hair, scours away makeup, erodes them down to flesh and bone. That’s what I see when I look at them now: two women slowly being eroded to their bare elements. Already it has happened to Mrs. Matsunaga, who’s been worn down to her fragile, fractured core.
