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By Dainne Warren
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Extra info for Cool Water
Several miles to the south of the Torgeson farm a great horned owl calls in the night. Not with a barn owl’s screech, but with a wise and deep who who whooo that carries like a radio signal from the dark bones of the Desert Drive-in movie theatre—one of the last of its kind—owned and operated by Willard Shoenfeld. The summer Lee turned fourteen (Astrid had designated the date of Lee’s arrival as his birthdate) he and a couple of friends rigged up an elaborate system of ropes and pulleys and climbed to the top of the projection screen, newly rebuilt after a twister had blown down the old one.
He was lying in a deep bed of straw, but he could still feel the ground underneath him, like a hard clay pallet. And although the night was dark as pitch, he could see pictures drifting by in front of his eyes. The whole country moving, as though he were watching it through the window of a slow-moving train. He could hear sounds in his head. A train whistle. The repetitive clacking of steel wheels on the railway tracks. And off in the distance another sound, the pounding of thousands upon thousands of hooves.
Lee hopes it’s not another porcupine. The dog is fearless when it comes to porcupines and having had a nose full of quills on more than one occasion has not deterred him. In the kitchen, Lee gets himself a glass of water and his eye lands on the silver tea service behind the glass doors of Astrid’s oak cabinet. It’s looking tarnished and he doesn’t know what to do about it. His wrinkled shirt, spots on the water glass in his hand, rings of blackened grease around the burners on the stove. To Lee, these are domestic mysteries.