And now MaryEllenson has run away to begin his roaming years. With the group split, we needed him. Perhaps MaryEllenson feared Ruthson even though Ruthson told us he would accept the boy. His mother, Mary Ellen, won't be much good for a while. We'll let her take time off.
—
Later in the afternoon we start up again, and I dare to go out on the main road where it's smoother. Practically right away, a pickup stops for us when the driver sees me wheeling Rosalia along. You'd have thought he'd leave a couple of tramps alone (specially with one of them beat up and the other with a broken leg) but he and his truck look as raggedy as we do.
“I can take you and your cart, too. Far as Williamsville."
That's a couple of hours down the road. It'll get us well away from the group and we won't be leaving tracks. I'll feel a lot safer.
I ask if my wife can ride in the front with him. (How good to be able to say, My wife.) “She'll be more comfortable there."
He helps me get Rosalia and her leg into the front seat.
He says, “Got yourself in a barroom fight, didya?"
“Sort of."
I and the cart ride in the back with two big sacks of potatoes. I hate to steal from somebody who's helping us, but I make a little hole and take—just one—for Rosalia.
The man lets us off at the near side of town just beyond a nice grove of broken down cottonwoods. I wonder if he knew we might want to camp-out in there.
We're both pretty hungry by now. (Not that we aren't used to being hungry). I don't have my knapsack and my sacks, but it won't be hard to find plastic bags lying around.
I back up the cart and wheel Rosalia into the cottonwoods. I have to clear out some of the underbrush before I can do it. Then I pull the brush back to hide her. I leave her the potato. We both know building a fire to cook it, what with all these fallen down dead cotton wood branches, would be a disaster.
I tell her I'm sorry to be putting her through all this, and she says it's what she's always, always wanted. And, anyway, she says, “It's not that different from our usual way of life except it's just the two of us."
—
One of us must think of herself as if “I” and leave, but which of us could bear to do it? We'll vote and someone will have to go.
But Grandma shuts herself away, back in that very room where she got tied up. When she comes out she says, no need to vote. She'll go. “But,” we say, “you're our oldest one. Who best knows our secrets? Who will tell us what to do next? It was bad enough losing Former Grandma in a land where we don't even know where we are."
She says, “I'll return as soon as I can. And if I find MaryEllenson I'll try to convince him to come back for one more year at least. None of them can have gotten far, what with Rosalia's broken leg, and then MaryEllenson is so ignorant of the other life. He won't even know enough to change his name."
We pack a bag for her, make sure she has something warm for the nights, and she walks away. We have guessed they'll follow the canal. We have guessed Janeson will have found some sort of cart, perhaps a wheelbarrow, in which to push Rosalia along. Perhaps they'll get a ride in the back of a truck. They'll hide in wooded vacant lots. Later, out of habit, they'll go up into the mountains. They'll be looking, hardly meaning to, for the Hidden Valley, even though they know, as do we, that perhaps it doesn't exist.
—
Before I leave to get us something to eat, I use my paring knife and trim off some of Rosalia's cast. They made it thicker than it needs to be. They didn't expect her to be traveling. She'll be able to swing it around easier now and she won't be quite so hard to carry.
This is a big town. Main Street must go on for a mile. I walk it, end to end, and then start back. At the smallest grocery store I ask if there are any over-ripe bananas they can spare, and they can. Also ripe avocados. While they're being so kind I use my sleight of hand and steal a small steak—right before their eyes.
We eat some of the bananas and avocados and then I wheel Rosalia out to the road. We want to find a place where we can build a fire to cook our food. I take a back road that seems to go around the town. We find a little park with fireplaces as if all set up just for us. It's late, so there's nobody around. We take a picnic table under an oak way at the back. Some of the fireplaces still have coals in them or half burned wood. I look for more wood. There isn't much around, but I find enough. We have a wonderful meal, the best in a long time. Then we sit at our table and watch the day fade. We have no plans for the night, but we don't care.
Rosalia leans her head on my shoulder. She says, “My dear,” three times as if practicing. It doesn't come easy after all these years of not saying it. I have a hard time with it, too.
“My dear ... my dear, you've been so good to us all these years. How can they begrudge you a life of your own any way you want to live it? How can they think this is wrong?"
“But they can. And they will. And it is wrong. Love of this sort is not for the likes of us."
“It doesn't feel wrong."
“Nor to me."
Then she says again, “I'm so happy."
—
We spend the night right there, Rosalia in the cart and I on the table. The police come and shine a spotlight around the park. We wake up and get ready to be thrown out, but they don't get out of their cars or shine their lights this far back.
In the morning we have a breakfast of leftovers—almost as good as before.
I carry Rosalia to the little bathroom shed. Her leg is much easier to manage since I cut some of the cast off.
We discuss what we never thought to discuss before: our future. Would we like a town like this or a little place in the mountains? Perhaps we should keep on looking for the Hidden Valley?
Rosalia says, “We're not towns people."
And I agree. “Except won't the others know that and find us all the more easily?"
Then she gasps and stares beyond me, wide eyed, and I turn, thinking they've found us already.
But here comes MaryEllenson. He's limping and dirty, his face tear-streaked. He looks as if he'll start to cry again any minute.
He told me he was thirteen but I didn't believe him. Now I even wonder if he's twelve. He shouldn't have left the group so soon. And boys his age are a big help. We were always sorry we only had one big boy left. Now he'll be ashamed to go back. They always are.
He collapses beside us. I bring him water from the faucet in the park. Rosalia pushes herself off the cart, leg first, wets a cloth and wipes his face.
It takes a while before he can talk and then it all pours out. “I lost you. I saw the truck pick you up. I walked all day. But it got dark. I didn't see your tracks again until this morning. I slept in those trees just before the town. I thought that's where you'd be. I thought we had a coalition."
Doesn't he realize everything has changed? That we're outlaws to our kind? That I and Rosalia are beyond all rules now? He shouldn't have anything to do with us. There's a ritual sickle on its way to my neck.
And since he found us so easily, that means anybody can. I was afraid of those cart tracks. I'll cut more off Rosalia's cast and carry her from now on. We should find a place in town to rest and let her heal. As soon as I get Rosalia settled, I'm going to spend a couple of hours wheeling that cart off in a wrong direction, toward the mountains. That should slow them down.
—
One must always shoo away the adolescent males and not let them come back until they learn the ways of fathers. That is: Strength, patience, affection, and labor.
—
MaryEllenson made Janeson's tracks even easier to follow. His shoes are so worn out I can see the print of his left big toe. He was sloppy while Janeson was careful.
I have the ritual sickle handy. I have the ritual cap. Under all my black, I'm dressed in red. I have loved Janeson, but if we let this kind of thing happen, it'll be the end of us all. I must do it and I must advertise it afterwards so all of our kind will know.
—
Before we start out we give MaryEllenson our last banana and a lesson. “You're....” But what? “Bobby Ellison. I'm....” What I used to be in my roaming years? “...John Johnson. And this is Mrs. Johnson. Or Aunt Rosalia if you'd like. I can still be Uncle, but Uncle Jack."
More lesson: “If they find us, you're safe. We're not."
With MaryEllenson helping, we move faster, first back to that grove of broken-down cottonwoods. But whoever is coming after us will know that's where we are. We'll spend the day here, at the edge of the road, not hiding. I'll go to town again and ... Bobby will stay here. I give him the job of hiding the tracks of the cart.
This time I stay off Main Street. I'm looking for a place to bring Rosalia. I don't find one, but I have to move her. In town with its paved roads and sidewalks, we'll be able to hide better than in any vacant lot or along dirt roads.
There's a house with nobody at home and a garage that faces an alleyway in back. There's a boat in there, but room for us, too. That will make a good temporary stop while we look for something better.
At the other, bigger grocery store I get some too-old fruit and day-old bread, some milk that's out of date but only by a day. I palm some butter. We won't need a fire for supper.
After we eat, I hide the cart in with the tumble-down cottonwoods. I'll take it into the hills later. It's well after midnight before we take off for the garage. Rosalia and MaryEllenson don't know enough about the other people to realize how odd we look to them. When I say we have to come into town in the middle of the night, they trust me.
I carry Rosalia. Her leg is much easier to manage than it was. Whenever a car comes we hide, but few cars come.
We bed down on the cement floor of the garage. We're so tired we can sleep anywhere. I think MaryEllenson ... Bobby ... is crying. I feel bad for him, but then I had to go through my roaming days all alone. I cried a lot, too. But he has us to help him—at least for a while.
If I reach out to him it would embarrass him, so I let him cry. Too bad he's big for his age. Everybody thinks he's older and expects him to act it. I never had that problem.
In the morning I climb up and look in the boat. I should have done that before. There are several flotation cushions in there. Tonight we'll sleep in luxury.
One of Bobby's jobs is going to be watching out for the people of that house coming home. And when they come, finding me and helping us get out of that garage. Though since it only holds their boat we may not have to hurry. Besides, we don't have anything to move but ourselves.
The people do come back, but they don't check on their boat and they don't use it. Only once does the owner come in to get some tools. He's so busy getting the tool that he doesn't notice Rosalia. She said she sat, again, as still as a fawn that's left alone.
In spite of my beat-up face and that I'm starting to grow a beard, I get a job in the little grocery store where they were so nice with bananas and avocados. With my first pay, I buy us underwear and shirts at the second hand store. Later I get blankets. I'm tired of living by stealing. I stole something for Rosalia, in case she's in pain and doesn't say so. I want that to be the last.
Bobby works in the grocery store part time and then goes around town asking for odd jobs. It's a good way for him to get to know the way the other people live. I tell him to keep an eye out for good places for us to move to. We want a place where we can stay put without fear of being found out.
We've been here under the boat a few weeks now. I've cut off even more of Rosalia's cast. Every evening I help her get used to walking. Best of all, she and I are beginning to appreciate being together without the group. We allow ourselves to show affection in front of Bobby. Our group always did show affection with children, but he's not seen that with grownups. I should talk to him one of these days. Maybe first let him see more of the way the others live. He'll see there are other possible ways of being.
Now we hold hands, sleep in each other's arms. When she's cold I put her on top of me so as to keep her off the cement floor. We've found a few secret times to make love, though we don't hold back on kissing in front of Bobby. He watches as if he doesn't know whether to be horrified or not. Would he reveal us to Grandma out of indignation? Does he know what revealing us would lead to?
His roaming years are starting off a lot easier than our usual way. Most of us go off alone. I'm glad he's with us. He's too young to be on his own and he's a good help. He's earned almost as much as I have. People feel sorry for him because he's a skinny, ragged kid and always give him extra. We're not dirty, though, and our clothes are patched and darned. We have our ways to live up to. Rosalia has cut our hair.
When we want to cook we go up to that park with the fireplaces. It's one of our favorite spots. Now that it's warmer there are often people there. We don't always get our favorite table.
We find an unused shed not far from our park. It belonged to the park, for tools and such, but they have a new metal one right next to it and never bothered to take this old one down. It's smaller than the garage with the boat, but probably safer.
By now we have plastic bags with our extra clothes. Rosalia can hobble holding on to my arm. When we decide to move, she's walking well enough for us to take the long way round, along Main Street. We look in all the store windows. We sit on a bench and people-watch. My boss at the grocery store comes by and I introduce Rosalia. I say, “My wife."
He says, a man has been looking for me. Could they have sent Ruthson?
“Is it a big man with a scar on his forehead?"
“No, a thin little man. Hunched over."
Grandma! Perhaps it's just as well we're moving.
“I told him I didn't know where you lived, but if I'da known I wouldn'ta told, anyway. Come by the store. I'll have something for your wife."
He's a good boss. When we come by he has a little bag of fruit with flowers laid on top. I buy us hamburger and a can of beans. By now we have a pan.
We settle in. We find a way to bar the door. Bobby goes back and steals three of the boat cushions. He says he got too used to them. That family doesn't seem to use the boat so we can probably return them when we leave, before they notice they're gone. We don't want to stay in this town forever.
We have our corner and Bobby has his, though he seems to think he and I should be together and the woman should be set apart as it always is in the group. When there's a coalition the men are always together.
We set our bags in a row between us and Rosalia hangs up our towel to give us even more privacy though it's still not much. Even so, we do dare to make love there, after we think Bobby is asleep.
—
Did Bobby betray us on purpose out of disgust for the way we've been showing our love? Or did he wake up and was shocked at us actually making love right when he was there? If Grandma came by the store she'd have recognized him right away, though maybe not me, what with my beard. And with this easy life, I've gotten fatter. We all have. Rosalia ... I suppose she's not beautiful and probably never has been, but I liked her looks from the beginning. Or maybe it was the look in her eyes ... always interested. Maybe it was how she laughed. And now she looks healthier than ever, rested, calmer ... Beautiful! At least to me. Perhaps it's the happiness I see on her face.
It was late and all the picnickers had gone home. We were at our favorite table looking up at the stars, our coals still glowing in the grill. We'd had steaks again, this time not stolen.
Rosalia sits on the bench and I'm sitting on the table. I pull her closer so she rests her head on my knee.
But someone all in black is standing at the far side of our oak tree—not moving, but I see the glint of what's left of our fire in her glasses and there's a flash of metal. I hiss a warning.
When she hears that she walks right up to us.
At first I don't recognize that it's Grandma even though I'd been warned she'd been dressed as a man.
She takes off a black hat and reveals the ritual red and gold cap of killing. She alr
eady holds the ceremonial sickle. Is it to be so soon?
She thanks MaryEllenson for doing his duty and predicts great things for him. She's sorry he had to see ... love. She can hardly say the word. “This ... behavior ... and at your age.” She tells him to return to the group. She says he's too young for his roaming years. She says there's no shame in coming back. Besides, he'll be a hero since he's saving our way of life. Then she begins talking in the old language. It's as if she's praying.
I interrupt her. I say, “Rosalia has done nothing. I forced her."
Of course she doesn't believe that for a minute.
“I've seen you both from the start. I predicted there'd be trouble. I'm not like Former Grandma. I wouldn't have let it go on as far as it did. But you've been a good Big Man. If you leave right now and don't ever come near us again, and if Rosalia returns with me, I'll say I did what had to be done in the way it had to be, and finished it to my own satisfaction. I'll not tell them how.
Rosalia whispers a “No” that's little more than a breath. It's as if she doesn't dare say, No, in front of a Grandma.
—
Our ways are common to all herds. Common to horses, common to lions, and, in a different form, common to elephants. Even the beach master, lord of his beach, lives as we do. Even baboons. How did humans come to such unnatural ways?
It's important to preserve the sensible, the logical, and if not by us, who then?
—
Rosalia says, “If he dies, I'll die with him."
After she says that, I feel ready to take on everybody. We will be together, one way or another.
I say, “But what if we both leave and both never come back?"
“Happiness isn't for those who break the covenants."
Grandma is still spry. She's a lot younger than her big sister, Former Grandma. She can do whatever needs to be done. But if I harm Grandma what will become of the group? Besides, though I liked Former Grandma best ... (when there was no place to go, it was she who led us into the unknown with courage and wisdom) ... even so, I do appreciate Present Grandma for all she's trying to do for our ways. I even appreciate how she had to leave the group and come chasing after me. This can't be a very pleasant task. But covenant or not, if I had to do it, I wouldn't.
Asimov's SF, March 2008 Page 20
