by Ann Benson
As soon as Janie had Caroline settled, she went back out to investigate. The man she’d seen sprinting for the plane was still arguing with the door attendant, trying to convince him to bring out one of the passengers. She checked her watch and saw that it would still be half an hour before the flight departed. She asked another attendant if she could get off the flight and then reboard.
“If your documentation is in order, there should be no problem.” She showed him her papers and he said, “Go right ahead. But don’t be too long. We’ll be closing the door and getting you all suited up in fifteen minutes.”
Recalling the crinkly sounds of the flight over to England, she said, “I wouldn’t miss it for all the world.” Then she turned and walked through the scanner past the loud clamor of Michael Rosow’s insistent tirade. As she passed by him, he momentarily locked eyes with hers.
He was on that field, she thought as he held her gaze. I don’t know how I know, but I know he was on that field. I wonder if he knows how close he came to finding us.… But Caroline was already on the plane, and protected once again by her U.S. citizenship. There was nothing he could do to her now.
She smiled warmly at the man and thought for a moment that there was a look of recognition in his eyes. But it faded, and he returned her smile with a brief nod of his head. Then he resumed his previous argument, and Janie continued on her way.
Up on the mezzanine the green men kept their silent, unwavering vigil, their weapons aimed downward at the crowd passing below. Janie passed by, stepping briskly, on her way to a bookstore for one last purchase; they would be in transit for many hours, and she wanted the distraction. It would keep her mind off the demons that rose up every now and then in a cruel dance, stomping out every last bit of peace she managed to find.
One more loss, she thought. It’s starting to feel like my normal life, this awful pain of missing people.… She wondered sadly what might have been between her and Bruce if they could have figured out a way to overcome their geographical challenge.
They’d said their good-byes at his apartment the night before. It had seemed too crowded, with Caroline in the extra room, and Janie had felt dissatisfied by the leave-taking. It should have touched me more, I should have been sadder or something.… Instead, she had felt terribly empty. She had convinced herself beforehand that she would not allow the pain to get to her. If I don’t let it in, it can’t hurt me.…
But it had gotten in, despite her best efforts. It was in there, deep in her heart, buried in the pit of her stomach, and lurking in her psyche, ready to scratch and claw its way out with the slightest provocation. She would hold it back, she’d decided, until she was safely home and in a private place where she could cry and wail until her heart burst.
“Why don’t you stay,” he’d said. “There are things you can do here. I can help you get settled …find work.…”
“I don’t know, Bruce,” she’d said, confusion paralyzing her. “I don’t think I’m ready to make that kind of decision right now. There’s so much confusion in my life …” she’d told him, “and things are changing; and when I first came here, I thought England was heaven. But you have even less freedom than we do. It’s so far gone here that I don’t think you’ll ever get it back. Back home we can still change things. I guess I just don’t like the way it feels to live under all this … control.”
And then she’d said, “But why don’t you come back to the States? You’re still a citizen, and you’ve been productive over here. You can just get on a plane and show up at the gate. We’d be glad to have you back again. We can always use another brilliant scientist.”
He’d smiled sadly. “Maybe I’ll surprise you someday.”
In other words, she’d thought to herself, no. They’d left it like that, a no-decision match between equally stubborn participants.
At the back of the bookstore she found an interesting-looking novel. She read the back-cover copy and a bit of the first page, and decided it would do. She went to the front of the store and paid, then headed toward the plane.
Standing not far from the entry gate was the same man who’d been arguing with the attendant earlier. He looked angry and resentful. His hands were stuffed into his pockets and his shoulders were tight, as if he’d been subjected to some monumental annoyance. He gave Janie a resentful look of defeat as she passed by, as if he knew somehow that she had caused him all this frustration.
You’ll never find out, she thought, a welcome sense of relief swirling through her.
The attendant was cheerfully welcoming passengers. Back to the good old U.S.A., Janie thought, silently applauding his victory over the insistent Biocop.
“Good work,” she said to him as she passed through for the second and final time.
He gave her a very beautiful, very broad smile and said, “And fun too.”
She passed by the cockpit, and walked through the flurry of preflight activity toward her seat at the back of the plane. She saw women struggling with babies, and flight attendants trying to cram small pieces of luggage into the overhead cargo bins. She saw a steward with an armload of clear plastic suits working his way down the aisle, passing them out and confirming to the occasional first-time traveler that these were indeed the suits some passengers called body condoms. She saw confused-looking elderly people trying to figure out where all the straps and masks were supposed to go.
She saw Bruce.
“Surprise,” he said.
Thirty-Five
Kate stood in the clearing and brushed the horse while Alejandro cleaned his sweaty body inside the cottage. He removed all of his ruined clothing and dropped it in a pile on the floor, then washed himself in the basin until he felt renewed—cleansed and purged of the plague that had nearly claimed him for its own. He reclothed himself in the fresher garments he had placed in his saddlebag before setting out for Canterbury, then ran his fingers through his hair and cleaned his teeth with the raveled end of a green twig.
He had decided, despite his weak condition, that they could not stay in one place long, and that they should leave Mother Sarah’s cottage as soon as possible, for there was no doubt that the king would send men to pursue them. As he sat at the table considering what they should take with them, he noticed a small movement out of the corner of his eye. Looking closer, he saw the tail of a rat disappear into the pile of clothing he had dropped near the hearth. He rose up quickly, and tried to shoo the vile animal away, but it remained hidden in the pile of garments until he beat it with the heavy end of a nearby broom. Then the rat scurried away, chirping like a bird, and disappeared through a crack in the stone wall.
What to do? If he was right about the rats, those garments would now be capable of carrying the plague into the body of any unsuspecting fool who might find them and wear them. They would have to be burned before he left this place, for there were plenty of destitute people who would not think twice before wearing anything that still had even a day’s service in it.
He shoved the pile of clothing into the hearth with the end of the broom. He placed a few dried faggots and a handful of leaves on top of the pile. As he was doing so, Kate came through the small doorway.
“What are you doing?” she questioned him.
“I am burning the clothes I wore while I was afflicted. I have seen a rat in the pile, and I fear that anyone who stumbles on this place and wears the clothing will be afflicted as I was. I am convinced that rats are the means by which this scourge makes its way through the countryside. To burn purifies,” he told her. “I would not have it on my soul to leave these items behind.”
And to secure her part in this important ritual Kate asked, “Please, Physician, may I strike the flint?”
“If it pleases you, child,” he answered, and handed the dark stone to her.
She picked up a nearby rock and was about to strike the two together, when the sound of a horse turned her head. They looked at each other in alarm. She dropped the flint and the stone and they hurried to the
door. Alejandro, his knife in hand, moved her gently behind himself as he peered out to see who was approaching.
Crossing the glade was a plump woman in torn clothing, wobbling precariously on a too-small horse that labored under her weight. Her headdress was tilted to one side and her face smeared with dirt. Peeking out from behind Alejandro’s leg, Kate cried, “It is my mother’s maid!”
Alejandro squinted through the sunlight. “Indeed, it is she! Why on earth has she come here?” he said. And have others followed? he thought. He tucked the knife back into his boot and ran outside to help her, for she was clearly in difficult straits.
“God in heaven, woman,” he cried. “What has befallen you?”
As she slid down from the horse, landing unsteadily on sore feet in tight shoes, the maid said with irritation, “I’ve gone and spoiled my frock! As I entered the path, the wind pushed me right off the horse, and I landed on my behind! It’s a fair thing I’m well bottomed.” She brushed leaves and acorns off the hem of the gown and straightened herself up.
“But enough of me! I came seeking the Mother, but it’s you yourself who’ll benefit. God curse him, the king has sent a party out to find you. They passed me not an hour ago, and I sent them off to confusion, may it please the saints! You’d best move on from here, and the child too. They’ll not be long in finding you.”
He sent the serving girl off at once, for he would not have her found with them should her prediction of their imminent discovery come true. And it was fortunate that he did, for not long after her bouncing form had finally disappeared from view, the faint sound of barking dogs could be heard in the distance.
Alejandro frantically grabbed whatever was at hand that might be useful on their journey and shoved it all haphazardly into his saddlebag. As he was heading out the door, he looked back one more time, feeling as though he’d forgotten something. Seeing the clothing in the hearth, he put down the bag and took up the flint, intending to complete the job of burning it.
But just before the rocks came together, Kate said, “What of the smoke? They will find us by its rising plume!”
He aborted the strike, realizing that the smoke of even a small fire would give away their position, and they would quickly be discovered. He thought of leaving the items in the hearth without destroying them. As he stood there in a state of indecision, the specters of Alderón, Matthews, and Adele flashed through his mind.
No! his mind raged, I will not be responsible for another death. He reached into the hearth and removed the garments.
He ran outside and quickly strapped his saddlebag onto the back of the horse. Then he scooped up Kate and sat her in front of him, with the garments tucked between them. They sped down the path toward the meadow and Kate cried, “They are louder now! Oh, hurry!”
Their horse was rested and responded well to Alejandro’s less-than-gentle urging. As they left the soft air of the glen through the twisted oaks and entered the colder air of the field, the running animal made no protest. As they crossed the field, Alejandro saw even more brown earth than they had just a few days before. More dead, he thought. Will it never end? His infectious clothing lay between him and Kate, a loathsome burden, but he would not leave it behind to infect others.
They entered the field and he saw the fresh-dug earth. Suddenly he knew what he must do.
He reined the horse to an abrupt halt and jumped down off the confused animal. Kate cried, “Hurry! The sound is closer still!”
He heard the sound of dogs and horns and the clatter of armor, and the urgent shouts of men in determined pursuit of a quarry. He knew that he and Kate were the object of their cruel hunt. He dug his hands into the loose earth, shoving it away with more strength and vigor than he had left. Aft, his crazed mind thought as he clawed frantically at the dirt, Carlos Aiderón’s shovel would be useful now! And when the small hole was finally deep enough, he deposited the clothing into it, and quickly covered it with the loose dirt. He stomped vigorously on the surface of the dirt, compacting it, then brushed his hands together a few times and mounted the horse again.
Kate shrieked and pointed ahead in the direction they were riding. Alejandro saw soldiers emerge from the woods into the clearing, so he turned his horse around and they sped back in the direction of the oaks. When they dashed between the trees, no wind rose up to rebuff them, but as he looked back, he could see the slow swirling of twigs and sticks in a building maelstrom. He stopped the horse for a moment and watched as the swirling increased in intensity. Soon the whirlpool of wind became a raging storm, and heavy debris flew about like so many dried leaves. As the dogs approached the oaks, they slowed their pace, and whined as the swirling surrounded them. The soldiers also slowed, and their horses reared up, frightened by the sudden storm.
Alejandro blessed the wind under his breath and turned his horse onto the path once again; this time they did not stop, but rode straight through the clearing and into the forest on the other side. They kept going until they were certain they had lost their pursuers for good.
They slept that night under the stars on a grassy patch atop a high cliff on the coast of England. Across the Channel lay France. When they gazed out over the water in the morning they could just barely see it, but Alejandro could feel it beckoning to him like a homeland, safe and welcoming.
His strength renewed by sleep, Alejandro packed their few belongings. As he closed his saddlebag it seemed emptier somehow than it should. He looked through the contents again, and realized with dismay that an item was indeed missing.
He had left his book of wisdom behind in the stone cottage. He could not go back to get it now.
It saddened him to think that he had lost that part of his life. As he mounted the horse and pulled Kate up to the saddle, he hoped that whoever found it would put it to the best of use. He turned the horse toward Dover, where they would cross the waters.
And there, finally, their new life would begin.
Epilogue
Caroline sat on a wooden swing on the front porch of her home in western Massachusetts and watched her three-year-old daughter play in a pile of gold and yellow leaves. On her lap was an ancient book, a gift from Janie after their return from England four years earlier. Its leather binding was cracked and dry, and she thought guiltily that she shouldn’t be handling it. It belongs in a museum, she would tell herself every time she picked it up.
But I just can’t give it up yet, she would always think. Even after four years it’s still too fresh.
She turned the pages again, starting from the very beginning. Six hundred years, she thought. Incredible that it took so long to come to completion. She admired the fine spidery European hand of the first writer, now barely visible on the browned page. Time was, she thought, when we didn’t just speak into a computer and then wait for the printed page to appear, grammar clear and concise, spelling flawless. Once people wrote on pages with feathers dipped in a suspension of carbon and diluted pitch, and their fingers turned black from it, and their wrists ached from forming the letters. This man had written as if he’d known he would someday be judged by his work.
She passed through the collected wisdom of six hundred years, the faces and words now etched into her consciousness by countless repetitions. On the very last page was a clipping from the London Times of an article published while she’d been recuperating in Brighton. Alongside the article was a reproduction of a computer-generated image of her own face; they had not named her, but she had known. It was her own face, and she’d known quite well why she was being sought.
The newsprint was slightly creased. She thought to herself that she must have been careless when she’d last closed the book, and vowed to herself that she would not let it happen again. Museum, she thought once more. Before it’s too late.
She reread the article for the hundredth time.
Officials at Biopol are seeking the whereabouts of the woman pictured here. She is described as approximately five feet four inches tall, with bright red hair.
She may have either blue or green eyes, and her skin is quite fair. She may have substantial freckling …
She loved the part about the freckling. If they only knew … she thought. She read on.
… on her face, especially, and in all likelihood she is of normal weight. She is believed to be a foreign national, probably American, and will be traveling on a limited visa. Anyone with information pertaining to this fugitive should contact Lt. Michael Rosow at the West End branch of Biopol. Officials further state that the woman should not be approached under any circumstances, as she is suspected of harboring the causative agent of a potentially deadly infectious disease. No one at Biopol would name the disease in question; the spokesman at the press office would only say that the unnamed condition could be “quite serious in nature.”
Meanwhile, officials of the Health Ministry declined comment on an unsubstantiated rumor that there has been an outbreak of bubonic plague, long thought to have been eradicated in London, among members of one particular clan of Marginals, and that steps have been taken to control the spread. There have been six confirmed deaths outside the Marginal population from a plaguelike disease or syndrome in recent weeks. One of the victims was a prominent London restaurateur. Biopol officials have not released the results of their investigation into these deaths, saying that the official cause of death for all six victims has yet to be determined, and that any official comment concerning the alleged outbreak would be premature and potentially inflammatory.
Alleged outbreak, my ass, she thought, and closed the book. I was there. It was not “alleged.” She set the book down on the wood seat of the swing and looked at her scarred fingers, shivering as she thought how close she had come to losing them. She ran them through her long red hair, loving the cool feel of it on her skin, thinking once again, I should cut it. But no, her husband loved it. And that was reason enough to keep it.
