The Year’s Best Science Fiction: Fourth Annual Collection

by Gardner Dozois

  “I strongly doubt he’ll do it. If he does he won’t tell you in advance.”

  “What he said was it was you. I assure you I didn’t believe him for a minute. I am not taken in by savage cunning.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  “Mr. Garrett, my brother isn’t making any noise. Not till after dinner like you said.”

  “I know he’s not, Will.”

  “So you’ll say something to John and make him stop?”

  “If you’ve a mind to weary me, friend, you’ve got a start. Now how’s that wagon coming along?”

  “Got to have a whole new axle like I said. But I can get it done pretty fast.”

  Garrett looked alarmed. “What you do is take your time and do it right. Fast is the mark of the careless worker, as I see it. A shoddy job is no job at all. Now run out and see that boy’s not near the horses. I doubt he’s ever seen a creature bigger than a fair-sized dog.”

  * * *

  Garrett watched him go. The man was a puzzle and he had no use for puzzles of any kind. Puzzles always had a piece missing and with Will Garrett figured the piece was spirit. Someone had reached in and yanked it right out of Will’s head and left him hollow. No wonder the damn Injun gave him fits. A redskin was two-thirds cat and he’d worry a cripple to death.

  Garrett considered another drink. Will had diminished the soothing effects of the first, leaving him one behind instead of even. He thought about the woman upstairs. In his mind she wore unlikely garments from Paris, France. John began to sing out in the kitchen. Hiyas and such strung together in a flat and tuneless fashion. Like drunken bees in a tree. Indian songs began in the middle and worked out. There was no true beginning and no end. One good solution was the 10-gauge Parker under the bar. Every morning Garrett promised himself he’d do it. Walk in and expand Apache culture several yards.

  “I’ll drink to that,” he said, and he did.

  * * *

  The boy was perched atop the corral swinging his legs. John had given him sugar for the horses.

  “Mr. Garrett says you take a care,” Will told him. “Don’t get in there with them, now.”

  “I will be most careful,” the boy said.

  He had good manners and looked right at you when he talked. Will decided this was a mark of foreign schooling. He walked past the horses to the barn. The morning heat was cooking a heady mix, a thick fermented soup of hay and manure, these odors mingled with the sharp scent of cleanly sanded wood, fuel oil, and waxy glue.

  Will stopped a few feet from the open door. The thing seemed bigger than he remembered. He felt ill at ease in its presence. He liked things with front and back ends and solid sides to hold them together. Here there was a disturbing expanse of middle.

  “Listen, you coming out of there soon?” Will said, making no effort to hide his irritation. “I’m darn sure not coming in.”

  “Don’t. Stay right there.” His brother was lost in geometric confusion.

  “Orville, I don’t like talking to someone I can’t even see.”

  “Then don’t.”

  “You sleep out here or what? I didn’t hear you come to bed.”

  “Didn’t. Had things to do.”

  “Don’t guess you ate anything either.”

  “I eat when I’ve a mind to, Will, all right?”

  “You say it you don’t do it.”

  “One of those chickens’ll wander in I’ll eat that. Grab me a wing and a couple of legs.”

  Will saw no reason for whimsy. It didn’t seem the time. “It isn’t even eight yet case you didn’t notice,” he said shortly. “I promised Mr. Garrett you wouldn’t mess with that thing till noon. John raised Ned with me at breakfast. Me now Orville, not you.”

  Orville emerged smiling from a torturous maze of muslin stretched tightly over spars of spruce and ash, from wires that played banjo as he passed, suddenly appearing as if this were a fine trick he’d just perfected.

  “I am not to make noise before noon,” he told Will. “Nobody said I couldn’t work. Noise is forbidden but toil is not.”

  “You’re splitting hairs and you know it.”

  Orville brushed himself off and looked at his brother. “Listen a minute Will and don’t have a stroke or anything, all right? I’m going to try her out tomorrow.”

  “Oh, my Lord!” Will looked thunderstruck.

  “I’d like for you to watch.”

  “Me? What for?”

  “I’d like you to be there, Will. Do I have to have a reason?” Orville had never asked him a question he could answer. Will supposed there were thousands, maybe millions of perplexities between them, a phantom cloud that followed them about.

  “I don’t know,” he said, and began to rub his hands and bob about. “I can’t say maybe I will I’ll have to see.” He turned, suddenly confused about direction, and began to run in an awkward kind of lope away from the barn.

  * * *

  Helene kept to herself. Except for her usual walk after supper she had not emerged from the room since her arrival. Herr Garrett sent meals. The savage left them in the hall and pounded loudly at her door. Helene held her breath until he was gone. If he caught her he would defile her in some way she couldn’t imagine. She ate very little and inspected each bite for foreign objects, traces of numbing drugs.

  Garrett also sent the Indian up with presents. Fruits and wines. Nosegays of wilted desert flowers. She found these offerings presumptious. The fruit was tempting; she didn’t dare. What rude implication might he draw from a missing apple, a slice of melon accepted?

  “God in Heaven help me!” she cried aloud, lifting her head to speed this plea in the right direction. What madness had possessed her, brought her to this harsh and terrible land? The trip had been a nightmare from the start. A long ocean voyage and then a train full of ruffians and louts. In a place called Amarillo they said the tracks were out ahead. Three days’ delay and maybe more. Madame was headed for Albuquerque? What luck, the stranger told her. Being of the European persuasion, she might not be aware that Amarillo and Albuquerque were widely known as the twin cities of the West. He would sell her a wagon cheap and she would reach her destination before dark. Albuquerque was merely twenty-one miles down the road. Go out of town and turn left.

  Her skin was flushed, ready to ignite. Every breath was an effort. Her cousin would think she was dead, that something dreadful had happened. She applied wet cloths. Wore only a thin chemise. The garment seemed shamefully immodest and brought her little relief. Sometimes she drifted off to sleep. Only to wake from tiresome dreams. Late in the day she heard a rude and startling sound. Mechanical things disturbed her. It clattered, stuttered and died and started again.

  Before the sun was fully set she was dressed and prepared for her walk. Hair pale as cream was pinned securely under a broad-brimmed hat. The parasol matched her dress. In the hall she had a fright. The savage came up the stairs with covered trays. Helene stood her ground. Fear could prove fatal in such encounters; weakness only heightened a man’s lust.

  The savage seemed puzzled to see her. His eyes were black as stones. “This your supper,” he said.

  “No, no, danke,” she said hurriedly, “I do not want it.”

  “You don’t eat you get sick.”

  Was this some kind of threat? If he attacked, the point of the parasol might serve her as a weapon.

  “I am going to descend those stairs,” she announced. “Do you understand me? I am going down those stairs!”

  The Indian didn’t move. Helene rushed quickly past him and fled. Outside she felt relatively secure. Still, her heart continued to pound. The sky was tattered cloth, a garish orange garment sweeping over the edge of the earth. Color seemed suspended in the air. Her skin, the clapboard wall behind her, were painted in clownish tones. Even as she watched the color changed. Indigo touched the faint shadow of distant mountains.

  So much space and nothing in it! Her cousin’s letter had spoken of vistas. This was the word Ilse u
sed. Broad, sweeping vistas, a country of raw and unfinished beauty. Helene failed to see it. At home, everything was comfortably close. The vistas were nicely confined.

  “Well now, good evening, Miz Rommel,” Garrett said cheerfully, coming up beside her to match her pace, “taking a little stroll, are you?”

  Helene didn’t stop. “It appears that is exactly what I am doing, Herr Garrett.” The man’s feigned surprise seemed foolish. After four days of popping up precisely on the hour, Helene was scarcely amazed to see him again.

  “It’s truly a sight to see,” said Garrett, peering into the west. “Do you get sunsets like this back home? I’ll warrant you do not.”

  “To the best of my knowledge, the sun sets every night. I have never failed to see this happen.”

  “Well I guess that’s true.”

  “I am certain that it is.”

  “I have never been to Germany. Or France or England either. The Rhine, now that’s a German river.”

  “Yes.”

  “I suppose you find my knowledge of foreign lands greatly lacking.”

  “I have given it little thought.”

  “I meant to travel widely. Somehow life interceded.”

  “I’m sure it did.”

  “Life and circumstance. Herr, now that means mister.”

  “Yes it does.”

  “And mrs., what’s that?”

  “Frau.”

  “Frau Rommel. In Mexican that would be Señora. Señor and Señora. I can say without modesty I an not unacquainted with the Spanish tongue.”

  “How interesting I’m sure.”

  “Now if you were unmarried, you’d be a señorita.”

  “Which I am not,” Helene said, with a fervor Garrett could scarcely overlook.

  “Well no offense of course,” said Garrett, backtracking as quickly as he could. “I mean if you were that’s how you’d say it. You see they put that ita on the end of lots of things. Señorita’s sort of ‘little lady.’ Now a little dog or little—Miz Rommel you suppose you could see your way clear to have supper with me this evening maybe nine o’clock I would be greatly honored if you would.”

  Helene stopped abruptly. She could scarcely believe what she’d heard. “I am a married woman, Herr Garrett. I thought we had established this through various forms of address.”

  “Well now we did but—”

  “Then you can see I must decline.”

  “Not greatly I don’t, no.”

  “Surely you do.”

  “To be honest I do not.”

  “Ah, well! All the more reason for me to refuse your invitation! To be quite honest, Herr Garrett, I am appalled at your suggestion. Yes, appalled is the word I must use. I am not only a married woman but a mother. I have come to this wretched land for one reason, and that reason is my son. As even you can surely see, Erwin is a boy of most delicate and sickly nature. His physician felt a hot and arid climate would do him good. I am no longer certain this is so.”

  “Miz Rommel,” Garrett began, “I understand exactly what you’re saying. All I meant was—”

  “No, I doubt that you understand at all,” Helene continued, her anger unabated, “I am sure you can’t imagine a mother’s feelings for her son. I can tell you right now that I see my duty clearly, Herr Garrett, and it does not include either the time or the inclination for—for illicit suppers and the like!”

  “Illicit suppers?” Garrett looked totally disconcerted. “Jesus Christ, lady…”

  “Language, Herr Garrett!”

  Garrett ran a hand through his hair. “If I’ve offended you any I’ll say I’m sorry. Far as that boy of yours is concerned, you don’t mind me saying he looks healthy enough to me. If he’s sickly he doesn’t show it. John says he takes to the desert like a fox.”

  “I would hardly call that an endorsement,” Helene said coolly.

  “John knows the country I’ll hand him that.”

  “He frightens me a great deal.”

  “I don’t doubt he does. That’s what Indians are for.”

  “I’m sorry. I do not understand that statement at all.”

  “Ma’am, the Indian race by nature is inured to savage ways. Murder, brutalizing and the like. When he is no longer allowed these diversions, he must express his native fury in some other fashion. Scaring whites keeps him happy. Many find it greatly satisfying. Except of course for the Sioux, who appear to hold grudges longer than most.”

  “Yes, I see,” said Helene, who didn’t at all. The day was suddenly gone; she had not been aware of this at all. The arid earth drank light instead of water. Garrett’s presence made her nervous. He seemed some construction that might topple and fall apart.

  She stopped and looked up and caught his eye. “My wagon. I assume you will have it ready quite soon.”

  The question caught Garrett off guard. This was clearly her intention.

  “Why, it’s coming along nicely I would say.”

  “I don’t think that’s an answer.”

  “The axle, Miz Rommel. The axle is most vital. The heart so to speak of the conveyance.”

  He was fully transparent. He confirmed her deepest fears. She could see his dark designs.

  “Fix it,” she said, and the anger he had spawned rose up to strike him. “Fix it, Herr Garrett, or I shall take my son and walk to Albuquerque.”

  “Dear lady, please…”

  “I will walk, Herr Garrett!”

  She turned and left him standing, striding swiftly away. He muttered words behind her. She pretended not to hear. She knew what he would do. He would soothe his hurt with spirits, numb his foul desires. Did he think she didn’t know? God preserve women! Men are great fools, and we are helpless but for the strength You give us to foil them!

  There was little light in the west. The distant mountains were ragged and indistinct, a page torn hastily away. Garrett had warned her of the dangers of the desert. Rattlesnakes slithering about. He took great pleasure in such stories. She had heard the horrid tale of the centipede. From Garrett, from Will, and once again from Erwin.

  Turning back she faced the Sallie C. again. How strange and peculiar it was. The sight never failed to disturb her. One lone structure and nothing more. A single intrusion on desolation. A hotel where none was needed, where no one ever came. Where was the woman buried, she wondered? Had anyone thought to mark the grave?

  Drawing closer, she saw a light in the kitchen, saw the savage moving about. Another light in the barn, the tapping of a hammer coming from there. She recalled the clatter she’d heard that afternoon. Now what was that about? Erwin would surely know, though he had mentioned nothing at all. The boy kept so within himself. Sometimes this concerned her, even hurt her deeply. They were close, but there was a part of this child she didn’t know.

  Helene couldn’t guess what made her suddenly look up, bring her eyes to that point on the second story. There, a darkened window, and in the window the face of a man. Her first reaction was disgust. Imagine! Garrett spying on her in the dark! Still, the face made no effort to draw away, and she knew in an instant this wasn’t Garrett at all but someone else.

  Helene drew in a breath, startled and suddenly afraid. She quickly sought the safety of the porch, the protecting walls of the hotel. Who was he, then, another guest? But wouldn’t she have heard if this were so?

  She smelled the odors of the kitchen, heard the Indian speak, then Erwin’s boyish laughter. Why of course! She paused, her hand still on the door. The savage had carried two covered trays when she met him in the hall. At the time, she had been too fearful of his presence to even notice. The other tray, then, was for the man who sat in the window. He, too, preferred his meals in his room. Something else to ask her son. What an annoying child he could be! He would tell her, whatever she wanted to know. But she would have to ask him first.

  * * *

  It was Pat Garrett’s habit to play poker every evening. The game began shortly after supper and lasted until Garrett had soundly b
eaten his opponents, or succumbed to the effects of rye whiskey. Before the game began, Garrett furnished each chair with a stack of chips and a generous tumbler of spirits. Some players’ stacks were higher than others. A player with few chips either got a streak of luck or quickly folded, leaving the game to better men. Bending to the harsh circle of light Garrett would deal five hands on the field of green, then move about to each chair in turn, settle in and study a hand, ask for cards or stand, sip from a player’s glass and move on, bet, sip, and move again. After the first bottle of rye the game got lively, the betting quite spirited, the players bold and sometimes loud in their opinions. Will, lying awake in the shed out back, and on this night, young Erwin at the bottom of the stairs, could hear such harsh remarks as “Bet or go piss, McSween,” “You’re plain bluffing, Bell, you never saw kings and aces in your life…”

  More than once, Will had been tempted to sneak up and peer in a window to assure himself Garrett was alone. He thought about it but didn’t. If Garrett was playing with ghosts, Will didn’t want to know it.

  * * *

  Sometime close to three in the morning, Helene awoke with a start. There was a terrible racket below, as if someone were tossing chairs and tables across the room, which, she decided, was likely the case. Moments later, something bumped loudly against the wall outside her window. Someone muttered under his breath. Someone was trying to climb a ladder.

  Helene woke Erwin, got him from his bed and brought him to her, holding the boy close and gripping her parasol like a saber.

  “God save us from the defiler,” she prayed aloud. “Forgive me all my sins. Erwin, if anything happens to me you must get to cousin Ilse in Albuquerque. Can you ride a horse do you think? Your father put you on a horse. I remember clearly he did. At Otto Kriebel’s farm in Heidenheim?”

  “Nein, Mutti,” he assured her, “it is all right, nothing is going to happen.”

  “Hush,” she scolded, “you don’t know that at all. You are only a boy. You know nothing of the world. You scarcely imagine the things that can happen.”