Brandon does not seem to hear Steveston. He snaps the box in half over a knee and drops the halves. Steveston stoops as if to rescue the pieces of the box or perhaps the burning figures, but his hands are full. He scrapes at one part of the box with a foot, but he loses his balance and stumbles sideways into Zahra, who almost drops the baby.
“Happy times!” shouts Brandon. Then he extends a hand and says “Give me my hooch.”
The halves of the pale oak and teak chess board are now burning brightly. Steveston stares down at the flames, which light his brown beard and his bicoloured eyes and his furious and drunken and grief-stricken face. He gives Brandon a short, hard look and then takes his own bottle into his right hand along with the chess piece, and with his left pours the few ounces remaining in Brandon’s bottle onto the fire. The hooch hisses but causes the fire to flare up for a few seconds.
“You dumped my hooch! God damn you! Frost, he dumped my hooch!”
But Frost has turned his back on the gathering and is walking away toward his bridge, into the soothing expanse of the moonlight and the snow. Behind him he hears Tyrell’s taunting voice. “Yeah, that’s just like you, Steveston. Ruin everybody’s fun. Ruin everybody’s Christmas. What the hell do you know about games? You wouldn’t know a game if it bit you on the ass.”
Frost stops, turns, sees Steveston hurl his bottle at Tyrell, hitting him in the face. The chess piece also flies from Steveston’s hand, but into the flames. Tyrell staggers backward. Steveston charges toward him. Zahra manages to grab his poncho with one hand and divert him for a moment, but again she almost drops the child, and has to let go. Emma and Joshua are trying desperately to restrain Tyrell, who is snarling, and whose nose is leaking a stream of blood that reflects the firelight. Brittany rushes around the fire and wraps her arms around Steveston from behind, causing him to fall forward with her on his back.
Brandon slumps to the ground and sits there sobbing. He slaps handfuls of mud against his face and chest. He whines “Frost, Frost, he dumped my hooch.”
Frost starts back.
Tyrell stops snarling and cursing and thrashing, dabs at his blood, examines his fingers, turns from the fire and stands there squeezing his nose. Zahra manages to squat while holding the baby. She pats Steveston on a shoulder. She goes “Shh, shh.” Steveston just lies there with Brittany on his back, her arms trapped underneath him.
Frost is halfway back to the fire. Zahra stops making her soothing sounds. Brandon gives up his weeping and falls slowly onto his side. Frost stops, waits. He hears only Brandon’s snoring and the distant sounds of the children. He turns and walks away again.
But he stops once more. He has heard a new sound, heavy footsteps breaking the snow’s crust, coming closer. Someone is running slowly, heavily, unevenly. Drunkenly. He hears an urgent girl’s voice, farther away. “Daddy!” Because of the moon and the snow Frost is able to see who is approaching with such vigour. He darts forward. But is too late.
“Happy times!” hollers Daniel Charlie, waving his hooch, hurtling toward the fire. Then he trips over the extended legs of Brittany and crashes in a spray of embers and ash chest-first down onto the flames. Daniel Charlie bellows in terror. The others, even Tyrell, squeezing his nose, cry out and rush to help Daniel Charlie. Only Brandon, who merely twitches and stops snoring for a few seconds, does not offer assistance.
Daniel Charlie himself does most of the work, scrambling away, helped by Joshua, at whose feet he had fallen, and then by Frost. Many hands beat at Daniel Charlie’s poncho, where a half-dozen embers have snagged and are smouldering. Emma bats away a burning shard of the chess board that has caught by a slivery edge in the wool.
Daniel Charlie has not been burned. He stands there, shocked, baffled, wide-eyed, with his poncho smoking.
And then everyone is laughing. Everyone but Daniel Charlie and Brandon and Frost. Everyone but these three are doubled over or have had to sit on the ground and pound it with their fists and shriek with delight. Tyrell’s jackhammer stutter of a laugh batters through the crisp air.
Daniel Charlie gives a start and says “What’s that smell? Somethin’s on fire.” Louder laughter erupts. Some of Daniel Charlie’s hair has come unbraided. After three attempts, Frost manages to pluck from that hanging swatch of hair a small burning object in the shape of a horse’s head.
Daniel Charlie says, very slurred “Is my feather okay?”
“It’s okay" says Jessica.
The laughter starts to die down. People rise, assume more dignified postures, wipe their eyes.
Then the earth bucks.
Under the feet of the residents of Frost’s Farm the land blasts upward like a solid trampoline. Those who have risen fall, hollering in panic. Only Frost and Daniel somehow remain on their feet. Daniel Charlie staggers backward and steps into the fire. But immediately the earth heaves again and he steps out and lurches to hands and knees.
For a few seconds, before he turns a leg and cries out in pain and falls, Frost can see the far snow-covered fields twisting as if they were floating on a stormy ocean. He glimpses panicked eyes and open mouths nearby but can hardly hear the screaming because of a roaring like a tremendous rockslide below him in the ground. Lying on his back, tossed on the pitching earth, he is forced to witness a moon that seems to swirl in the sky, while the domicile sways above him like a reed. The roaring fills his head. It is pierced by faint sprinkles of shattering glass and by the sharp keening of baby Noor.
27
“My turn.”
Will handed Surrey the bow. Surrey slid a nail-tipped cattail stem from the plastic bag and set the small end against the bowstring. Because he was short he had to turn the bow sideways so the bottom end of it would not catch on the ground. He grunted from the effort but could only draw the bow a few inches back. The arrow, dry, straight, light as straw, zipped away and stuck in a rotted stump.
“Good shot” said Will.
“Whoa, dead” said Shaughnessy.
“Killed” said Surrey.
“My turn. Give me the bow” said Shaughnessy.
Will went to fetch the arrow. The nail had penetrated to some firm layer beneath the punk, and when Will pulled the arrow, the nail came loose and remained stuck. Will wiggled the nail free and turned from the stump, the shaft in one hand and the nail with its flattened head in the other. He started back. As he pushed the nail back into the dry pith of the stem something flashed past his face. There was a tick as the arrow hit the stump.
“Killed you” said Shaughnessy. He was speaking to the stump.
Surrey was also squinting narrowly past Will, at the arrow dangling by its tip. He said “A nail in your guts.”
The two boys were trying not to smile.
Surrey said “My turn.”
Will looked back at the arrow. He looked at the two boys. Shaughnessy stood with an arrow ready, but with the bow lowered. Will went and stood beside the boys.
Surrey said “Get the arrow, Will.”
Will did not respond or look at him. He put the arrow he was carrying back in the bag.
Surrey shot.
“You’re dead” said Shaughnessy.
“Two nails in your rotten guts” said Surrey.
“Get the arrows, Will” said Shaughnessy.
Neither Surrey nor Shaughnessy had an arrow now. Will picked up the plastic bag of arrows and took it with him to the stump and carefully extracted the two arrows they had shot and put them in the bag. When he turned, Surrey and Shaughnessy were staring at him coldly, with narrowed eyes.
Will said “Come on, let’s find somethin’ else to shoot.” He slung the bag over his shoulder and turned away from the other two boys and walked past the stump and past a foundation. The soil within the square of the foundation was laced with dark, limp vines and leaves of dead squash plants. Ahead there were more foundations, and there was brush. Will chose a way among the brush. He stepped around a white toilet bowl on its side. He stepped on a low compact mound of drywall
gypsum. He did not see anything they could shoot at. Shaughnessy and Surrey were following. He could hear them whispering.
“Coyotes” said Will. He stopped, and when the other two boys came even with him they also stopped. The coyotes were yipping not far to the south, the direction they were heading. Will said “They’re happy ’cause there’s lots of rabbits.”
“Yum, rabbits!” shouted Surrey, and he and Shaughnessy threw back their heads and started yipping and howling. Will reached to take the bow from Shaughnessy, but Shaughnessy, without stopping howling, moved the bow away. When the boys stopped their noise the coyotes had fallen silent.
Will twisted the bag closed and led the way deeper into the burbs. It was not very cold. The ground was wet. Ragged clouds crawled toward the northeast. He said “Thousands of people lived here once. These were all houses.”
“Thousands of people” said Shaughnessy.
“Houses” said Surrey.
Someone choked back a laugh.
Shaughnessy’s shaggy white-blond hair hung over his eyes and was very dirty. He had his two ragged shirts and wool kilt. His feet were wrapped in layered plastic socks. Surrey wore his long wool shift, and today also wore foot-wrappings. Will had his patched sweat pants and poncho and sandals.
Shaughnessy said “What happened to all the people? Did your grampa kill them?”
Surrey guffawed. His boy’s voice cut the air like a blade.
Will looked back. He could see the domicile because it rose above everything, but it was small and far away. He did not walk any farther. The coyotes started up again. He said “First the good times finished. Then almost everyone got sick and died. The ones that were left burned up the trees for firewood. Then they burned the wood from the empty houses. Then they moved into the concrete buildins and burned up the rest of the houses. What’s left is the burbs.”
“Sick and died” said Shaughnessy.
“Burbs” said Surrey.
Will said nothing. He glanced at the distant domicile again. He glanced at the bow that Shaughnessy held. He said “I have to go back.”
Shaughnessy said “Your grampa’s old. I guess pretty soon he’ll get sick and die.”
Surrey said “Or else Langley will shoot him in his rotten old guts.”
Will said “I have to go back. Can I please have the bow?”
Surrey shook his head in amused disbelief at some memory and said “You should’ve heard my daddy howl when they stabbed him.” He held his side and screamed and then laughed, bending over. His face went red from laughing. When he stopped, the coyotes were quiet again.
Shaughnessy said brightly, as if he had a brilliant idea “My daddy got sick and died. I know all about it. I could come and show your grampa.”
Surrey doubled over laughing again.
Shaughnessy said “Where’s your sister?”
Will paled. His breathing became rapid and shallow.
Surrey said “Maybe she’s dead.”
“Dead in Town.”
“Maybe Langley shot her in her rotten guts.”
The boys waited for him to respond.
Will started back toward the domicile. He did not walk quickly. He looked straight ahead.
Shaughnessy said “Don’t you want your bow?”
Will did not turn. Then, twenty feet ahead, a rabbit darted out from the shelter of a bush, saw Will and froze. Will stopped. Shaughnessy and Surrey came up quietly beside him. The rabbit remained absolutely still. Shaughnessy moved the bow slowly toward Will, offering it. He whispered “Your turn.”
Above the brush Will could see his grandfather’s bridge, the rapid transit bridge, the domicile and Fundy’s Bridge. He could see all these things without moving his eyes, because they were so far away. Shaughnessy wagged the bow slowly in front of Will. Without turning his head Will accepted it. Shaughnessy took the plastic bag from Will and quietly opened it and slid out an arrow. This Will also accepted.
Will drew back the bow and finally lowered his eyes from the distant panorama. He stepped very slowly forward until he was ten feet from the rabbit. He held his aim for many seconds, but the rabbit did not move.
When the arrow struck, the rabbit did not fall over dead. It ran. It made no sound. It left behind no blood. The arrow was about three feet long. It had pierced the abdomen of the rabbit to half its length. The rest of the arrow protruded from the other side.
Shaughnessy and Surrey took off after it, hollering hysterically. Whenever the rabbit snagged one end of the arrow on a bush they would give a piercing laugh and one of them would make a dive for it. They were wild with joy. But the rabbit kept just ahead of them, dodging, scrambling madly whenever the arrow caught on something.
Will heard the shouts and laughter of the boys grow faint. He picked up the bag of arrows and began walking quickly toward home. He was looking at the ground, and tears were dripping from the tip of his nose. As he passed the toilet bowl he heard a rustling in the bushes, and a second later the rabbit was in front of him again. The arrow still protruded on either side. There was still no blood. The rabbit took off as Will came near, but both ends of the arrow caught on bushes.
Will heard Shaughnessy and Surrey crashing toward him. They were calling “Will! Will! It’s comin’! Get it!” The animal was so light that it weighed almost nothing, but still the cattail stem snapped when Will tried to use it to lift the rabbit. He held the rabbit down with his left hand and took hold of a rear leg with his right. The nail in the protruding end of the arrow narrowly missed his own face as he swung the rabbit hard against the toilet bowl. Finally there was blood, a small smear on the porcelain. He dropped the dead rabbit and slid the broken shaft out and tossed it away. He picked up the bow and the bag and continued toward home. He did not turn.
“Whoa, blood!” said Shaughnessy behind him.
“Smashed its rotten brains” said Surrey.
Will walked quickly on. The boys were silent. Then Shaughnessy said “I bet they got your sister.”
Surrey said “I bet they smashed her rotten brains.”
The bow and bag dropped from Will’s hands. He whirled and charged, head down, shrieking. Wide-eyed, Surrey threw up his arms and stepped backward onto the rabbit and tripped over the toilet and fell. Shaughnessy also tried to get out of the way, but without looking up Will rammed him in the stomach with his head. Shaughnessy folded, and his feet left the ground. He sailed a little distance before landing in a sitting posture.
For a few seconds he simply sat there, with his legs straight out in front and his hands flat on the ground, looking dazed. Then he began making desperate gasping sounds, like a dry pump. He was so concerned with trying to draw breath that he did not even look at Will, who had also fallen but now stood above him. Will had stopped shrieking. With his fists clenched he faced his friend. He shook his head bitterly. His shoulders quaked with sobs.
Will turned and took a fast step toward Surrey. But then he stopped and watched the boy scramble away into the bushes on hands and knees, whimpering with fear. Will picked up the bow and the bag and ran toward his home.
28
“Take it from me.”
“Take it from you.”
“No, I mean... She’s Noor - she’s got to be safe.” Granville shrugged, as if no further comment were possible.
“I am reassured” said Frost dryly, without turning to Granville. The two men trudged up an exit ramp. He said “No one has got to be safe.”
“No, that’s right too. You can say that again.”
They headed up the bridge. It was late afternoon, getting dark, and foggy. When Frost ran a hand over his beard he felt droplets of mist. He could not see as far as the middle of the bridge. He could not see if his men were there. He said “Have you seen my graveyard?”
Granville said “I didn’t mean... I only meant...”
Granville had no hat. His red hair had grown in to form a thin mat, but his beard was only sparse threads of copper, hardly visible in the weak light. He ha
d a long wool shift and sandals. He carried a black bag over his shoulder.
Frost said “You did good work for Daniel Charlie.”
“No problem, Frost.”
“Flattening those nails. Working on the water wheel.”
“Anythin’ to help out.”
Frost stopped and listened. Granville also stopped. But no sound from up ahead penetrated the fog. They started again. Frost said “Now you’re a good citizen.”
Granville swiveled his face sharply toward Frost, but Frost looked straight ahead with no expression. Granville tried a small, tentative laugh. Then he also faced forward. He wrinkled his brow. Soon he said “That’s right, Frost.”
In the fog, on the more or less uniform roadway, there was no sense of progress. They seemed to be walking in place. Granville said “Frost, can I ask a question?”
“You just did.”
Granville thought for a while, then said “What?”
“You just did ask a question.”
Granville produced his half-laugh again.
Frost said “Jesus, if you’re going to ask, ask. Don’t ask if you can ask.”
“Sorry, Frost, sorry. I didn’t mean... I mean... I just...”
Frost stopped and looked squarely at Granville. “Do you have a question for me?”
Since Tomorrow Page 18
