Since Tomorrow

by Morgan Nyberg

  Frost set the funnel into his own bottle and knelt and unscrewed the lid of the big container. He lifted it and held it against his side and poured in the hooch and set the container down. He did not put the lid back on. He went and sat against the wall opposite the still. He drank, winced, stared out the window at the flat grey sky. The room was musty, but cold air spilled in the window and across Frost’s feet. He drank again. When the door hinges squawked he turned. Brandon came in.

  Brandon had his own bottle, almost empty. He stood looking down at Frost for a minute. He said “Is that you, Frost?” Then he gave a kind of growl and went and filled his bottle exactly as Frost had done. He came and sat beside Frost. Their shoulders were touching. His smell was musky and strong. He lifted his bottle in a toast, said “Up yours" and drank.

  After a while Brandon said “What’s the combination, Frost?”

  They drank in silence.

  Soon Brandon sang, quietly. “Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away…”

  After an hour Will came in and closed the shutter and helped his grandfather up and out of the hooch room. Brandon filled his bottle again and also went out and down the corridor, bumping from wall to wall. As his grandfather leaned on him Will closed the door, took the lock from Frost’s pocket, hooked it over the staple, clicked it shut and spun the dial.

  48

  In the dilute dark of predawn King rose from where he had been curled beside a circle of dead embers. He stretched, wagged his tail and went forward to receive a scratch behind the ear from the man who was passing among the sleeping guards. The man, Granville, said nothing, but lifted his hand to the two guards on duty, who nodded back to him.

  Granville walked down the bridge and into Town. He stayed on the trail that ran up the middle of the ravaged street, and continued on it where it veered westward. He passed a few low apartment blocks. If there was life inside these buildings there was no sign of it. They were dark and silent. There was no sound but his own careful footsteps along the uneven path, and his own breathing. Before the trail again swung perpendicular to the river he turned off and picked his way cross-country at an angle on a smaller mud path and crossed a scrub-grown lane and then a street and met Town Trail again two blocks north. Here he stopped and waited.

  It was going to be a cloudy day, not very cold. Because of thick overcast the morning light was slow in coming. Granville stood looking southward down the street, toward the river. When he could make out the pink of the quilt on the seat of Langley’s rickshaw he backed away until the big building was hidden from view by a two-storey structure that was buried under a heap of blackberry vine.

  He squatted and held his head in his hands and rocked from side to side for a few minutes. Then he rose and walked back to the street from which he had withdrawn. He stared again at the rickshaw. He took a breath and walked out into the middle of the street and turned left and started down the trail.

  Half a block from the building he stopped and looked up. On the roof, dark against slightly paler clouds, a guard with a crossbow was watching him. Granville lifted a hand to the level of his shoulder and gave a small wave and tried to smile. It started to rain.

  He stopped and waited a dozen paces from the street door. No one came out of the building, but he did not go forward to knock or call. From here he could not see if the guard was still on the roof. He closed his eyes and let the drizzle fall on his face, as if it might be the last chance in his life to do so. A small noise came from inside the building.

  There were double glass doors. One of these opened without a sound, and Freeway came out. Leaving the door open he glanced at Granville, hawked, spat, came down the building’s three steps, turned, hoisted his long poncho and urinated powerfully against the building’s scabby paint. He dropped the poncho and drew his sword and came toward Granville. He said “God damn you.”

  Granville took a step backwards.

  Freeway said “You woke me up.” His basso voice was ragged with sleep, like a cement mixer loaded with boulders. He swatted Granville on the arm with the flat of his sword.

  Granville winced and said “Ow, don’t!” but did not move.

  Freeway looked at him for a few seconds, then said “Frost send you?”

  Granville shook his head rapidly, kept shaking it.

  “You want skag?”

  Granville nodded, again at length.

  Freeway said “We trade at the market. Not before breakfast in the god damn rain.” He swatted Granville again. This time Granville managed not to react. Freeway said “Well? Where’s your stuff? You think skag is free? Hey, maybe you can be my breakfast. I give you skag, you let me eat your leg. Yeah.” He poked Granville with the point of his sword. Granville whimpered. “But addicts taste like shit. Well?”

  Granville was shaking. He nodded his chin toward the river and Frost’s farm beyond it.

  Freeway half turned. What he saw was rain. What he saw was the wet road, with patches of half rotted stems of fireweed in the twisted asphalt, and white-berried leafless bushes. What he did not see was stuff. He looked back to Granville, who said “I’ll give you Frost.”

  Freeway observed him for a minute. He sniffed, hawked, spat, walked away. At the glass doors he motioned with his head. He went in and held the door open until Granville had passed him. Then he closed it and slipped his sword under his belt.

  Freeway led Granville through a vestibule with a floor of hard tiles. There were two doorways. One led to stairs. Freeway continued through the other, a doorless entry into a large room that smelled of wood smoke. Here there was a carpet. Where it was not worn through to concrete it was as hard as the tiles of the vestibule. There was no furniture. Some of the dawn’s dismal light entered from glassed windows in two walls. In the corner between the two windows stood a heating stove, with split wood heaped near it. A real stovepipe ran through a jagged hole in the wall. From cracks in the stove’s metal, and from the damper near the bottom, orange light leaked. These were the only sources of light within the room itself.

  Two soldiers squatted by the stove, one on either side. Each wore a wool poncho and a wool kilt. One had leather sandals, and other had laced work boots. Their matted hair hung loose over their shoulders. They stared at Granville, who had stopped two steps in from the vestibule. Freeway stood over the stove, with his back to Granville, warming his hands. Using a fold of his poncho he opened the lid of the stove. Light from the fire played on the high ceiling. He went to the heap of split wood and took a chunk and dropped it into the stove and closed the lid. He said “I brung breakfast.”

  One of the soldiers said “I ain’t eatin’ no more addicts.”

  The other one said “They taste like shit.”

  Behind Granville someone said in high-pitched irritability “It’s you.”

  Granville turned toward the voice. Then he backed a few steps further into the room.

  Under his open leather jacket Langley wore a ski sweater with a bright Scandinavian pattern. Long underwear hung down under his jeans, to the tops of furry slippers. He went to the stove and opened it using his sweater. He looked down into the stove for a minute, as the tips of flames licked up into the room. Then, using the sole of his right foot, he kicked one of the soldiers. The man, who had been squatting, crashed onto a shoulder. His kilt slid up, and a pale leg flailed briefly, until he scampered away. The sound of Freeway’s laugh filled the room like a volley of cannons. Langley slammed the stove lid shut and glared at Freeway, who stopped laughing. The other soldier rose, made a wide circle past Langley, and stood leaning in a dark corner.

  Langley said “How’s life at Frost’s?”

  Although Langley was not looking in his direction, Granville shrugged.

  “How come you come so early? I’m grouchy before I eat. You were at my farm –you ought to know that.”

  “That’s true too. I mean…. So’s Frost don’t see me. If it’s daylight he can see stuff far away. He’s got one of them things that can make it look
close.”

  “Frost’s got a block-your-door? Hell, I could use one of them! What else has he got?”

  “He’s got bows.”

  “I knew that. You snuck here in the dark to tell me he’s got bows?”

  “And sharp points on the arrows.”

  “Not nails?”

  “They made them out of car metal.”

  Langley paced in front of the stove. “What else has he got?”

  “I know everythin’. I can help you beat him. If you…I mean...”

  “If I what? You want to trade, let’s trade.”

  Freeway said “He wants skag.”

  Langley said “You want skag? You get tired of makin’ the world a better place?” He scratched at his face. “Well, I got skag till the cows come home. You tell me what’s happenin’ at Frost’s, and I’ll keep you so skagged up you can give up walkin’, and just float around like a… like a cloud. You want to float like a cloud? You want to float over that bridge every day or two and tell me what’s happenin’ at Frost’s?”

  Granville said “Yeah. That’s what… I mean, you can say that again. But I don’t want skag. I mean, thanks, but…”

  Freeway said “You said you wanted skag. God damn you.” He sounded offended. He put his hand on his sword handle.

  Langley said to Freeway “Will you shut up?” and to Granville “Okay. Don’t worry. It ain’t time to worry yet. I could still be willin’ to trade. What is it you want, if you don’t want skag? You want to visit one of them women I got upstairs? Or two? Three? Is that what you want? You want to spend some time with that there Snow? She’s worth everythin’ you got to tell about Frost’s Farm and then some. Ain’t that right, Freeway?”

  “I don’t know, Langley. You never let me…”

  “Didn’t I say shut up?” Then, to Granville “What do you say? What do you say, Planville? Ain’t that your name?”

  “It’s Granville. I mean, that’s true too. What you said. But I thought, like, maybe I could stay here. Maybe I could join up with you guys. I mean…”

  Langley turned back to the stove and slid the lid aside again and stared at the fire, scratching his face. Without turning he said “You want to be a soldier.”

  Granville said nothing.

  Langley gently closed the stove lid and turned and said “What if I give you a crossbow? And what if you come up close to Frost? If we were in a fight. What would you do?”

  “If I come up close to Frost?”

  “That guy who put all that meat on your bones. All that pretty hair on your head.”

  “I’d kill him.”

  Langley walked across the room and leaned close to Granville’s face. He looked into Granville’s eyes as Granville stood there blinking. Langley said “You would kill Frost, who done so much for you?”

  “I would. Just like that.”

  “Just like what?”

  Granville tried to snap his fingers, could not do it. He said “I mean…”

  Langley nodded and went to a window and stood looking out at the miserable dawn. He said quietly “Sounds good to me. I could use a good soldier. Since Frost’s dogs kilt Jericho. Hey, how’d you get past them guards up on the bridge? And that dog they got left.”

  Granville said nothing. Langley turned toward him and said “Hm?”

  “I snuck.”

  “You snuck through Frost’s guards.”

  Granville nodded.

  “That’s a hell of a sneak.”

  “Oh yeah. You can say that…”

  Langley stretched, yawned. “Well, come on soldier, let’s see if we can find some breakfast.”

  Granville followed him out the door, and Freeway and the two soldiers fell in behind Granville. There was no light in the stairwell. Langley climbed the stairs quickly. Granville managed to keep up, managed not to trip or get trampled by the three men behind him. They came out into a hallway, into which a hint of light emerged from a doorway. They passed through this doorway. Langley said “Go and find this soldier and me some breakfast.” The footsteps of Freeway and the two men faded up the stairwell.

  They were in another large room. This one also had windows, but there was glass in only one of them. The other was covered by plastic. There was no stove nor any kind of fire. It was very cold. Against the windowless wall to the left six women were huddled in a tight group. In the poor light there was no colour to their sleeveless rag dresses, their faces or their hair. Without taking their eyes from Langley and Granville they slid closer together. One of them was pregnant. One of them was very young. She pushed herself back against another woman, who put both arms around her and held her close.

  Langley said “Here they are. My women-folk. Ain’t they a pretty bunch? Shit, they ain’t even worth feedin’. Only reason they’re alive is to keep Frost from chargin’ in here. With them pointed arrows you say he’s got. Except for Snow. She’s worth feedin’. Worth skaggin’ too. Which I suppose I shouldn’t of started her on. Gettin’ kind of skinny. Don’t want food no more. Just skag.”

  At the sound of the word the girl lifted her head, straightened a little. The woman holding the girl wrapped her arms more fully around her.

  “I ought to cut her off.” Langley scratched at his face. “Jesus it’s cold in here. But that would be a problem, and I already got enough problems. Think I’ll just send her over to Frost’s. The way I sent that other one. That Willow. What do you think? Is that a good idea, Planville? To cut her throat and dump her somewhere where Frost is likely to trip over her?”

  “What? I mean….”

  “I said…. What the hell you shakin’ for? Didn’t I already say you could be a soldier? You ain’t scared, are you? A soldier can’t be scared, you know. Especially when there ain’t nothing to be scared of. What I was askin’ was, I was askin’ if you think it’s a good idea to cut that pretty little throat and dump that pretty little throat where Frost is going to for sure stumble over it and fall down and bruise his skinny old ass?”

  “It is. It’s a good idea, Langley. I guess. Unless…. I mean….”

  “’Cause I believe Frost needs more encouragement, Planville. To get off that farm. That`s my opinion. But I need your advice, soldier. That’s what you come here for, ain’t it – to give me advice about Frost? Well, I’m askin’ for it, so start doin’ your job. What I’m askin’ is, would it help to speed things along if you cut her throat for me so`s I could send her across the river for Frost to trip over? I wouldn’t ask you to do that – carry her over there. You’d have to haul her the long way round, see, over Wing’s Bridge, and I can tell you ain’t got the muscle for that. But it don’t take much muscle to run a sharp knife through young skin. And I got a knife so sharp I use it to shave this god damn itchy face. So, what do you say, Planville? Would that do the trick with Frost? Are you shakin’ again or are you just shakin’ your head? Is that a no?”

  “Yeah. I mean, no. That wouldn’t do the trick? No way.”

  Langley looked at Granville with surprise and delight. “Hey! There we are! I got some advice from my new soldier! Jesus it’s cold in here. Where the hell’s my breakfast? Them guys were just jokin’ about eatin’ addicts. We’re still eatin’ Wing’s cows. So you think I ought to cut her off.”

  “I don’t know, Langley. I mean, that’s true too. What you said. You can say that again. I just know about Frost. Not girls. I mean….”

  Langley patted Granville’s shoulder three times. “There’s an honest answer. You’re going to be a good soldier. Maybe I’ll send her to Frost’s, and maybe I won’t. But I ain’t going to cut her off. Hell, I got skag till the cows come home. Maybe she’s skinny, but she’s still better than anything else you can find around here. ’Except that Noor. And we’ll talk about that Noor after breakfast. That okay with you, soldier?”

  “Yeah. That’s okay. I mean…. Yeah. We’ll talk about Noor after breakfast. I know all kinds of stuff.” He had stopped shaking.

  “You do? Well, that’s wonderful. So, you
ready for breakfast?”

  Granville nodded. “You can say that again. I mean…”

  “I wasn’t talkin’ to you. I was talkin’ to her. You ready for breakfast, Snow?” Langley slid a hand into his jeans pocket. He tugged out a clear plastic bag. The room had lightened slightly – some powder was visible in the bottom of the bag. Using two hands Langley carefully opened the bag, lifted it to his face, peered into it. He nodded, then turned to Granville. “You want to feed her?”

  Langley just stared at him.

  “You used to be an addict. You know how it goes. Just lick your finger and get a little skag, and she’ll take it from you. She’s trained good.” He held the bag out.

  With two fingers of his right hand Granville accepted the bag. The fingers did not tremble. He looked at the girl.

  She shrugged away from the woman who was holding her and crawled toward Granville on her hands and knees. The sleeveless dress slid off one shoulder, and a tiny breast appeared. Compared to the arms and face, whose colour was now discernable, the breast was very white. She looked up at Granville as she crawled toward him. There were dark bags below her eyes, but the eyes were wide and eager in the skull shape of her face. Her long hair dragged on the floor. Her hands and knees thumped softly against the hardened carpet. But yet she was so pretty.

  Granville transferred the plastic bag from his right hand to his left. He looked at Langley. Langley nodded, smiled. Granville licked his right index finger and inserted it cautiously into the bag. When he took it out there was a smudge of powder stuck to its tip. He looked at Langley again. Langley nodded again, smiled again.