The 14th Day by K.C. Frederick Page A

Edward has picked up separately. In fact, they’re going to the inn run by the university to transport some chairs to one of the libraries, where a conference is going to be held later in the week. The men watch the morning sky, ominously plum-colored above the pale brick of the university buildings crouching among the dark trees. Radio broadcasts have been interrupted for warnings of violent, potentially dangerous thunderstorms; the air is heavy, expectant. In the eerie light the pink stone campus theater stands out sharply, detached from its background, as if singled out for the fury to come. There’s a sense of held breath: thunder growls in the distance, trees hiss.
    â€œWhat do you think?” Edward glances past Jory to Vaniok. “We going to be able to get this job in before the storm comes?” He squints at the sky.
    â€œI hope so,” Vaniok answers. “What do you think, Jory?”
    â€œOh, yeah,” he says without turning his head. He too is watching the sky, though he doesn’t look concerned, but rather intent, like a man listening to music only he can hear.
    â€œWhat do you say, Van?” Edward goes on after a while. “Think our guys are going to make it tomorrow? The game, I mean.”
    â€œSure thing,” Vaniok responds. “They’ll be national champions. We’re Number One.”
    Edward smiles. “We’re Number One,” he repeats. After a while he asks, “You a basketball fan at all, Jory?”
    Jory shakes his head and returns to watching the coming storm. Edward frowns, he mutters something inaudible and they drive on without speaking. They stop at a light and listen to the trees’ breathy rustling. The darkness has deepened in the last few seconds and students cross before them very quickly, heading for the shelter of buildings. All at once the murky light gives way to abrupt illumination and the men in the truck flinch, an instant before a stammering crack of thunder. The students are running now. “Oh, oh,” Edward says, “we’ll be lucky to get there before the rain hits.”
    Minutes later they’re at their destination. Safely under the roof of the colonnade that looks onto the inn’s courtyard, they watch large drops slap the pavement while lightning prints fitful silhouettes of buildings across the street. Edward looks at the rain and sighs. “This storm could take a while,” he declares, and he goes to phone their boss to ask for further instructions. “I think we just got ourselves a little free time,” he tells them with a smile. Vaniok and Jory stand in the long colonnade that’s open to the courtyard, their faces washed by the suddenly cooled air. Far away, at the other end, a guest at the inn, a stout old man in a white suit, stands with his knees bent, arms hanging at his side, looking into the rain, then he shuffles off laboriously. “What weather,” Vaniok says. “Storms that would come once a year in the homeland are normal here.” Jory nods and they listen to the rain for a moment before Vaniok goes on. “Edward is a good-hearted man, I know that. He doesn’t talk to you because he doesn’t understand you.”
    â€œI should learn about basketball, you mean?”
    â€œNo, but he’s puzzled by you, he doesn’t know what to talk about with you.”
    Jory is silent for a time. As he looks into the rain, though, listening to its fierce drumming against the roof, his erect posture suddenly loosens, he takes a quick, nimble step toward the courtyard as if he’s intending to dash out into the downpour for the sheer pleasure of getting soaked. His shoulders have lifted, he seems to have become lighter. He reaches out beyond the protection of the roof, letting his hand get wet. Smiling to himself, he inhales deeply, breathing in the stormy air. When he speaks he surprises Vaniok by saying, “Edward has a nose just like a cousin