of wine. The green glass bottles made the wine look darker than it really was. He moved toward them and then changed his step toward the stove. He brought the heated kettle and set it on the table. From a dusty shelf he took a tin cup and put tea leaves into it. He poured hot water over the leaves. The steam from the water floated across the room and condensed on the window. The green color drained from the leaves into the water. When it was strong enough, he strained it into another cup that sat on the table. Then he threw the leaves into the sink. A coat of dust and dirt had settled on the edge of the sink. Water dripped slowly from the tap and made a brown spot in the bottom of the sink where it had worn off the enamel. The water dropped into the sink and splashed up on the sides so that it left clean circles in the dirt. Where it splashed on a razor blade the blade had rusted and sent brownish-red ribbons of water trickling back into the sink. His hand trembled as he sipped the tea, and he felt the warmth of the water in his mouth and stomach. He set the cup down and as he breathed he could hear a rumble in his chest. Through his shoes he could feel the cold dampness of the floor. A draft from a crack in the door sent shivers along his neck and prickled the hair on his arm. He got up from the chair and opened a hole in the stove and added more wood to the fire. The black pieces of burning wood popped and sent little puffs of smoke into the room. He stirred the fire with a stick. The grate rattled as he shook the ashes into the box. He put the cover over the bright flames and for a while he stayed to let his body soak up the heat. He went from the kitchen into the bedroom. An army bunk sat in the middle of the room. Its wire springs hung in the center so that the mattress folded into them. The only window in the room had a broken glass in the top frame. When the wind blew the air would whistle between the broken edges. A worn coat hung from a peg on the wall. He put the coat on and put a box of shotgun shells in the large pocket on the side of it. He searched through a wooden box by the window for some gloves. From the box he pulled clothes and old worn out socks. They smelled of mildew and he threw them on the bunk. He found the gloves and pulled them over his gnarled hands and then went back into the kitchen to warm them over the fire. The taste of the tea came to his mouth as he looked at the cup on the table. He picked his hat up from the floor and pushed it down over his grey hair. The barrel of the shotgun knocked an empty salt shaker on the floor as he lifted it from the table. He put the gun under his arm and opened the door to the porch, and stepped outside. He shut 16 the door and looked around him at the mess on the porch. He walked from the porch, out in the dried brown grass and around the side of the house. He called and whistled to the dog. The dog ran up to him, barking, wagging his straggly brown tail. The hermit picked a piece of wood up from the ground and threw it out in the long grass. The dog waited by the hermit's side until he pointed toward the stick. Then he went after it, limping a little on one leg as he ran. He found the stick and brought it back to the hermit. The hermit smiled and there was a sparkle in one eye. He laughed and said, "good boy." The sky began to fill with clouds and the light changed the greens of the moss and grass. The red salt grass turned almost purple like the shadows of the mountains. When the sun went behind a cloud it cast odd fuzzy shadows in the grass and bent reeds. The clouds moved quickly hiding the sun behind their darkness. The wind began to blow gently, and the reeds brushed and sang against each other. The hermit walked slowly, and the mud from the ground caught on the soles of his shoes. As he lifted a foot, the mud scraped off on his pants cuff and the side of his leg. The hermit had built a blind not far from the house. Digging a hole in the grey-black mud, he had lined it with cattail leaves and sage brush. He had piled more brush at the front edge of the hole so that when the ducks came in to settle on the pond they couldn't see him. The dog sat down by the edge of the hole and the hermit walked out into the cold water to set up some muds, to help decoy the ducks to the pond. The water sloshed over his shoes, soaking his feet; but he didn't mind, he had done it that way every time he came hunting. He worked quickly in the greying light, using the butt of the gun to pile the mud. With a handful of dried grass he wiped the muck and water off the gun stock. He climbed into the blind and sat down on a box to wait for the ducks. He loaded his gun and noticed the darkening sky. The wind riffled the long strands of hair that stuck out from under his cap. The gun felt cold as he rested the butt on the ground between his legs. He looked through the brush and blue veiled reeds and cattails for ducks but could see none. The dog sat on the edge of the hole and laid his head between his front legs. His tail wagged. He watched his master cough and spit in the bottom of the hole. It got colder and the dog began to whine. The hermit bent over trying to keep warm. He coughed, and the dog whined oddly at him. The hermit began to move his feet restlessly. He shouldn't have waded in the water. His pants cuffs were frozen and his feet were colder than he had thought. 17