Nordel sighed heavily. He waited, then said “Can someone else tell this?” There was no sound but the rain driven in gusts against the glass, and the hissing of the peat in the fireplace. So Nordel cleared his throat and went on “When Snow screamed that out – when she screamed, ‘Daddy,’ there was some bumpin’ and wrestlin’ behind me, and someone shouted ‘No!’ and ‘Grab him!’ But Annacis busted loose. He heads straight toward Langley. He’s got his head down and he’s roarin’ and he’s movin’ fast. For a second I thought he’d make it. I thought he would wring that bastard’s neck before they got him.
“But some crossbows went off. I don’t know how many. Three or four. Maybe more. They went off with kind of a snappin’ sound. There was arrows flyin’ everywhere. We heard them zippin’ past us, and we tried to duck. But they didn’t shoot no more. Annacis is on the ground on his back, and he’s screamin’, and he’s got hold of an arrow that’s stickin’ out of his side.
“Langley shouts, ‘Hang on to them dogs.’ Freeway drops his sword and grabs Snow and holds her ’cause she’s gone wild and is screamin’. Some of the soldiers put down their crossbows and take out their swords and come forward and make a circle round the women. They’re all screamin’ too now, and we’re cussin and callin’ out to Annacis. And young Surrey, he’s in our group and he’s screamin’, ‘Daddy, Daddy’.
“The rest of the soldiers make a circle around us. There’s nothin’ we can do. A soldier grabs Snow from Freeway and pushes her in with the women. Our dogs have gone crazy, and we’re havin’ trouble holdin’ them.
“Then Langley walks over and looks down at Annacis. Langley’s face is all red, and I never seen no one look so mad. He gives Annacis a hell of a kick in the side, and Annacis shouts out. Then he kicks him again. Then he turns his back on Annacis and all the rest of us and he walks back to where he was before. And he stands there in the rain, lookin’ away toward the bridge and pickin’ at his face. Then... Then Freeway picks up his sword and goes over to where Annacis is layin’. And he takes his sword in two hands... He takes his sword and he....”
“Never mind” said Frost.
The rain beat steadily against the window now. The wind blew smoke back down the stovepipe and through the gap in the glass of the fireplace and into the room. Will released his hold on his grandfather and stepped through the men seated on the floor and he crouched at the fireplace. He pulled open the fireplace doors, and the fire drew air from the room, and it glowed a little brighter, and the smoke was sucked up the stovepipe again. Will sat down beside Wing and put his hand on his shoulder.
Nordel said “I’ll tell you somethin’, if ever you have to fight Langley.”
Tyrell’s voice burst again in the hallway, as if the very concrete of the building were cracking. “Oh, we’re going to fight him. Don’t you worry about that.”
Nordel continued “Well, it takes ages to load them crossbows up again. If they’d of all shot at Annacis we could of grabbed our swords and spears and turned the dogs loose while they were loadin’ up again, and might of drove them off or might or at least killed Langley. But most of them didn’t shoot. So we had to stand there and watch Annacis dyin’ on the ground in front of us.
“The soldiers with the bunch of women started off with them toward the bridge. Langley climbs into his wagon thing. He calls out – I could just hear him over the wailin’ of the women – he calls out, ‘The deal’s off, Wing. I don’t like the way you do business.’ Four soldiers sling their crossbows on their backs – they got twine for that – and they pick up the shafts of the wagon thing and start out too. Then one of the soldiers keepin’ guard on us points this way, down the river. ‘Get movin’,’ he says. What could we do?
“They followed us for a ways. Langley called out again in the distance – his voice is even higher and whinier than before – he says, ‘Tell Frost I’ll swap this farm for his one. I like his location. So close to Town. I like his farm better than Fundy’s. I like his house with all them stovepipes. It’s cozy. Then you and his lot can all come back here and grow spuds till you’re blue in the face. And I’ll grow what I’m good at growin’. I think a cash crop is what they called it. When there used to be cash. Tell Frost that’s my business deal. Tell him that’s Langley’s proposal.’
“We kept lookin’ back. Langley and the women and the soldiers were still headin’ toward the bridge. The rest of the soldiers were standin’ there watchin’ us, blockin’ the way back. Two soldiers were out tryin’ to find the arrows that they’d shot off. Annacis and Digger were layin’ alone there on the ground.”
14
Frost stood in the graveyard, in morning fog, alone, like a ghost risen from that population of his dead. He glanced up at his bridge, at the concrete columns muted by the mist, at the span that was a mere darkening of the fog itself. The river also was more than half erased. But the markers that were ranged in front of him and to his left and to his right were clear enough.
They were T-shaped, low to the ground, wooden – each a length of two-by-four driven into the earth, with a crosspiece nailed flatways on top. The crosspieces were wrapped in clear polyethylene. Rainwater had collected in folds of this protecting material, so that the whole expanse of the graveyard shimmered slightly as Frost turned his head.
He squatted at one of the markers not far from the south edge. With both hands he pressed and smoothed flat the plastic so that he could read the name. He remained like that for some time, with his wet hands wrapped around the crosspiece, leaning forward slightly to let the marker bear his weight. Then he placed the tips of the fingers of his right hand at the left end of the crosspiece and slid them slowly toward the other end so that he could feel the letters of the name carved there. Zahra. He tried to say the name but could not.
He rose stiffly and moved through the graves toward the river. He glanced down at the grave markers of Daniel Charlie’s daughter and Tyrell’s woman and his baby son and Joshua’s wife and children. The grass was short and wet and green, like a ragged lawn. There were no thistles or blackberry.
From the graveyard it was a short walk to the riverbank. He heard someone coming and turned. It was Will. Frost said “I should’ve hauled her out. It didn’t seem important then.”
Will said “I wish I could’ve seen her. You called her Bye-bye Dubai.”
“She’s rotted now. I don’t even know where to look. Busted all apart, I suppose. Swept away.” They looked downriver into the fog. He said “We went to the Galapagos Islands.”
“I know.”
“Your mom and your grandma and me. Your mom was just a baby.”
“And you and my grandma were young.”
“Not much older than Noor. I wonder if those islands have changed. The Galapagos Islands are famous for changing. The animals, I mean. You remember Darwin?”
“Sort of. Are we changin’ here, Grampa?”
Frost said nothing for a minute. “Maybe. Maybe it’s started up again. Survival of the fittest. Maybe.”
They turned from the river and walked the short distance to the nearest graves. Frost squatted at a grave and smoothed the plastic to read the name. “Susan” he said.
Will repeated the name. “Susan.”
Frost stood. “I remember her, of course. Some things. But how true are those memories?”
“I don’t know. You’ve got a good memory as far as I can tell.”
“She had gold-coloured hair with a little red in it. She had trouble with her hair. It didn’t want to behave. She was small. We must have looked strange together. She had blue eyes and freckles.”
They walked back through the graves. A billow of fog slid off the river. They could see nothing now but the grave markers. They stopped at the grave of Will’s mother. Will squatted and ran his fingers over the word Zahra as his grandfather had. He said “I’m going to try and not forget, Grampa.”
Frost walked on a few paces to the two newest graves. There was no grass on these. The soil was dark and soft
-looking and almost flat. Through the plastic Frost could read the name carved on one of the markers. It said, Baby Aisha. The other grave had no marker. Frost said “Sorry, Fire. I’ll do that now.”
He sighed and walked beyond the graves to wait for Will in the fragile light.
15
A young man reaches up through the small dark doorway of a sailboat and sets an infant on the deck. The child is dressed in bulky winter clothes. It stands there unsteadily, its dark face turned upward, blinking into falling snow. The man climbs up onto the deck himself. He wears a padded jacket and a toque, and he has wire-rim glasses. He picks up the child again and steps across onto the dock beside the boat and sets the child down and says “Stay there.” The child sits on the planks and continues to stare up into the snow. The man goes back down inside the sailboat.
After a minute the man emerges again but only partially, to check on the child. After another minute he comes on deck again. He has to struggle this time because he is carrying a body wrapped in a white sheet. It takes him several tries to get through the little doorway. He steps carefully onto the dock.
He says “Let’s go. Can you walk?”
The child grips a pant leg of the man. Then it reaches up and takes hold of the lip of his pants pocket. They proceed slowly along the dock. The man at first carries the body in his arms, but soon he has to fold it over a shoulder so that he can give the child one of his hands.
Other than the rushing of the river there is no sound but the occasional slap of rigging against aluminum masts. They pass cruisers and sailing yachts that are tied to the dock. There are no people. The man stares straight ahead. It is late afternoon and the light is weak. The child keeps looking up into the snow. They come to a ramp. The man lets go of the child’s hand. The child grips the hem of the man’s jacket at the back. The man climbs the ramp slowly, so that the child will not fall. With his free hand he holds the railing.
At the top the man says “I guess I have to carry you.” Balancing his burden, he squats and put his free forearm under the child’s bottom, and the child holds on and, grimacing from the effort, the man slowly stands. Then he goes on, more quickly, carrying the child in one arm and the body in its white sheet over his other shoulder.
There is no traffic on the high bridge just east of the marina. No planes are landing or taking off at the airport to the west. There is no movement anywhere, and no sound but the slap of rigging, which grows faint behind him. Ahead are a few small commercial buildings – janitorial supplies, collision repairs - but there is no sign of activity and there are no cars parked outside these shops.
There is also one tall building, which looks as if it could have people in it. It appears to be a hotel. He stops for a minute and shifts the body to his other shoulder and gives the child his other hand. He goes on. It is not far.
He helps the child struggle up the few steps. He says “Sit there a minute. I’ll be right back. Okay?”
“’Kay" says the child and sits on the top step and tilts its face up to the falling snow and closes its eyes.
The man pushes open the door to the hotel and goes in and stands there listening. He turns down a corridor and finds a door that stands open. In the room the curtains are closed and it is dark. The bed is made up. Gently he lays his burden on the bed. He tries the light switch, but nothing happens. He opens the curtains. He looks in a little refrigerator. There is a pair of large cookies in a plastic wrapper. He tears off the wrapper and puts one of the cookies in his jacket pocket. Then he goes out and gives the other cookie to the child.
He goes back into the building and turns in the other direction and opens another door. It does not lead into a room but into an apartment. He goes down a short hallway into a living room. The curtains on a big window are open, and there is a fair amount of light. He carries on into a bedroom. This room is dark. A man and a woman are lying dead in the bed.
He goes close but does not touch either of the bodies. They are grey haired and are wearing pyjamas and are covered by a thick patchwork quilt. There is no smell. He does not open the curtains but backs away and goes into the kitchen. There is no food in the refrigerator. He tries the taps – there is no water. There is an empty pot on the stove. Under the sink he finds a plastic bottle of bleach, which he sets on the counter. One of the bottom drawers is full of potatoes. In another drawer he finds a cigarette lighter. It lights on the first try. He puts it in his jeans pocket.
Outside, the child is still working on her cookie. He sits her on his shoulders and walks along the street in front of the hotel. He eats his own cookie as they go. At the collision repair shop he tries the door but it is locked. He walks on a little farther and comes to an area in which there is a pile of gravel and some scattered concrete culvert pipes. He sets the child down to crawl on the gravel pile. Inside one of the pipes he finds two shovels, a small red jerrican that is a third full of gasoline, and a pair of twisted and dirty and hardened leather work gloves. A rusty wheelbarrow rests upside down against the culvert.
He stuffs the gloves in a back pocket of his jeans and takes a shovel. He puts the child on his shoulders again and goes back to the hotel. He leaves the shovel at the door but takes the child in with him this time.
He looks in all the rooms on all the floors. All the doors stand open, and all the beds are made up and all the curtains are closed. There are no more people, alive or dead. He finds no further packages of cookies but finds two miniature bottles of vodka and a half-bottle of red wine. These he leaves at the door of the hotel.
He takes the shovel and carries the child back toward the river. At a point where the ground looks soft but also where his sailboat can be seen he begins work on the graves. He does not dig them deep, but nevertheless it is well dark by the time he finishes.
There are no lights anywhere. The snow has turned to rain. The mass of the hotel stands out dimly against the clouds. Wearing the work gloves, he brings the man first, wrapped in the patchwork quilt. He uses the quilt again for the woman. He has to manage the child each time. He transports his own burden in the same sheet he used to bring her from the boat. Heaving with sobs, he carries his daughter and his wife through the near-total darkness and the cold rain toward the last grave.
Back at the hotel he tears up a sheet and makes a diaper and changes his daughter in the dark. They sleep in a bed in one of the rooms near the entrance. At dawn the child wakes crying with hunger. In the ground floor corridor the man finds a plastic bucket in a closet. It smells of cleaning liquid. He goes into the kitchen of the apartment and pours a little bleach into the bucket.
It is a cold morning, but the sky is clear. He takes the child and goes past the graves in the growing light and down to the river and fills the bucket. He lets it sit for a minute. Then he rinses it several times in the flowing water. Finally he fills it to a level at which it will not be too heavy to carry.
He makes another trip to bring the can of gas from the culvert. Then he leaves the child in the room and goes into the apartment. In the living room, beside the couch, there is a wooden end-table. It is stained sage green and looks like a high-school student’s woodworking project. He manages to knock it apart easily. In a closet he finds a pile of old newspapers. The one on top is the most recent. It is six months old. It has only two pages. The headline reads, Pandemic Confirmed.
At the hotel’s steps he breaks up the narrower pieces of the table. With the wood and the newspaper and a little of the gasoline he makes a fire and boils a few potatoes in the pot from the kitchen. He sterilizes a bowl and a spoon with bleach and rinses them with river water.
When the potatoes are done the man sits on the steps with his daughter and waits for their breakfast to cool. His daughter climbs on his lap and looks up into his eyes. There is a questioning expression on her face. She says “Momma?” The man picks her up and stands looking down into the fire. With a foot he nudges some unburned fragments onto the embers. He wipes tears from his face. Soon he sits down again and
takes a bit of potato with the spoon and blows on it and tastes it. The child accepts it and opens her mouth for more.
When they have eaten, the child toddles around the parking lot while the man sits on the steps in the early sun. But soon he says “Come on, Zahra" and once more sets the child on his shoulders. They go back to the culverts. He sits the child in the wheelbarrow. “Can you hang on to this?” He lays the remaining shovel across her lap.
They go southwards and cross a main road. The only sound is from a slight breeze. Ahead he can see houses. In a few minutes he stops in the paved driveway of a ranch-style house. There is a large window, and he can see through it into a living room. He watches the window for a minute but sees no movement. The grass of the lawn is tall and wet and winter-dead. A pair of sparrows flutter among the stalks of this grass, but there are no birds at the empty feeder that hangs in front of the window. The lots in the area are small, and there are many houses of an almost identical design. But this house has wooden siding along the bottom part of the walls.
He puts the child into the grass, and she starts stumbling through it and laughing. He inserts the blade of the shovel under one of the wide overlapping boards of the brown-stained siding and tries to pry it loose. The board will not come loose, but it splits. He puts on the gloves and takes hold of the pointed end of the split-off part of the board and puts a foot against the wall and heaves. With a ripping sound the board splits along its entire length. Nails come out and the split-off part drops to the ground. At the far end it is almost as wide as an intact board. The man gives a grunt of triumph. He says “We’ve got firewood, Za-Za.” But he steps back as the door of the house opens. An old woman steps out.
Since Tomorrow Page 10
