Amerika (27 page)

In truth, it was less than twenty minutes later that Helmut Gurtman’s Range Rover and a SSU field communications truck arrived in the Bradford driveway. Amanda hurried out and the radio operator gave her his seat, showing her how to operate the radio. She pressed a button and, to her amazement, heard Peter’s voice.

“Amanda, can you hear me?”

“Peter—it’s so good to talk to you. Where are you?” “In a plane, headed for Chicago, with Colonel Denisov.”

“We all watched you on TV. You were wonderful.”

“Honey, things are moving fast. I want you to meet me in Omaha. There is a house already set—”

“Peter, when are you coming home?” Now there was an edge in her voice. She was relieved to talk to him but she was very much aware of Major Gurtman looming beside her.

“Honey, that’s the point. I don’t have time to come home. You’ll have as much help as you need—” “Peter, do you have any idea what’s been going on here?”

“I heard there was some trouble with the Exiles.” She glanced at Gurtman, his face a cold mask, and she was intimidated, despite herself. “It was more than that,” she said softly. “I think you should come home.” Peter, twenty thousand feet above southern Illinois, barely able to hear her, much less understand her concerns, didn’t know what to say. “That’s impossible, Amanda,” he said. “Colonel Denisov will guarantee your safety.”

She looked at Helmut again. “It’s not my safety I’m worried about. I can’t leave Milford. Peter, what we’re saying is going over a speaker. Major Gurtman is right here, now.”

Peter looked to Andrei for help. “She says she can’t talk because Gurtman is there. She seems to be afraid he’ll do something, harm the town or the Exiles, if she leaves.”

“Let me talk to her,” Andrei said. He liked to believe that calming distraught women was an easy task for him.

“Hello, Mrs. Bradford? How are you?”

“I wish I could say I was fine, Colonel.”

“Don’t worry about a thing. We can resolve whatever is worrying you. I just want to congratulate you on being—what do you say?—the new first lady of the area.”

“I . . . thank you . . . but . . .”

“Let me talk to Major Gurtman. And you please listen to what I tell him.”

Amanda stiffened as he took the phone. “Major Gurtman, sir.”

“What is the situation there?”

Helmut started to speak in Russian, but Andrei ordered him to use English.

“There is a curfew in effect.”

“By what authority?”

“My discretionary authority. Also, a request from the county council for our intervention and the restoration of order.”

There was a long silence. Peter did not understand what was happening, but he saw Andrei’s face and knew he was making some sort of complex political calculation. Peter had never really read Machiavelli but he guessed Andrei was what people meant when they called someone Machiavellian.

Maybe it’s time to read him, he thought.

Finally, Andrei said, “Major, you are to rescind the curfew and return to your barracks.”

“Sir, I must protest. The community is filled with insubordination. The rebellious behavior of the Exiles —abetted by certain townspeople—”

“The governor-general assures me the local authorities are in a position to maintain order. Those are my orders. That is ail.”

“Yes, sir!” Helmut said sharply.

“Mrs. Bradford,” Andrei continued. “Are you there?”

Helmut got up from his seat. The look he cast at

Amanda frightened her. She was glad that he left the truck. “Yes, Colonel.”

“Are you satisfied that you will be able to leave?” Andrei asked.

“I guess so. Thank you.”

“You may feel your townspeople need you, but so does your husband. Here he is.”

Amanda said, “Peter, if you’d only seen what they did here.”

“Whatever it was, we’ll fix it,” he said. “I need you, honey. You don’t know how much.”

“Some things can never be fixed,” she said. “I’ll see you in Omaha.”

“Great!” Peter said. “And, sweetheart, don’t worry. Everything’s going to be fine.”

The school building had ivy clinging to its crumbling bricks. The children of Chicago’s upper crust had been educated there for more than a century, from the days of the meat-packing barons to the new elite of the Transition. For the past several decades the school’s janitor had been a man named Keyes, a wily, wizened old fellow who had watched the elites come and go. He had equal affection and equal contempt for them all.

At precisely two o’clock that afternoon, Keyes went to a second-floor men’s room and began stuffing rags down the toilet bowls. As soon as one was well stuffed he flushed the toilet and he adjusted the handle so the toilet would keep on flushing indefinitely. Soon all four toilets were overflowing and Keyes slogged through the mess he had made and headed downstairs to the office.

A secretary, Miss Raleigh, a plain woman with a winsome smile, was on duty in the office.

“Toilet backed up. Better call a plumber,” he said.

A knowing look passed between them and Miss

Raleigh reached calmly for the phone, as if toilets backed up every day.

A few blocks away, Devin was in the back of the truck, pulling on his overalls. “It’s time,” he said.

“The driver told me to wait here,” Clayton said. “He thinks two inside is enough. I trust him.”

Devin felt himself panic. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he said. “What if he doesn’t want to see me?” “Hell, man, you’re in the middle of it,” Clayton said harshly. “A lot of other people are at risk helping you—”

The truck lurched to a stop. Devin heard the front door slam and looked at Clayton.

Clayton nodded reassuringly. “Let’s get your boy.” A man named Barton threw the door open. He was a big, homely man, a plumber and a member of the underground. “Grab a tool kit,” he said.

Devin nodded and they climbed the steps to the school. “Just follow my lead,” Barton said. “Plumbing’s easy! Look like you don’t give a damn and you’ve got all day. We’ve got a saying; all you’ve got to remember is, Hot’s on the left, cold’s on the right, and shit don’t flow uphill.”

Keyes, the janitor, met them at the door. “It’s upstairs, gents,” he announced. “A regular Niagara Falls.”

He led the way. Water was cascading down the stairs. An assistant principal was standing at the bottom of the stairs looking worried. “Hurry, hurry!” he called. Barton, shambling along, said, “Don’t panic, pal.” “See, here’s what’ll happen,” Keyes said. “There’s a class break in a couple of minutes. Your kid, he’s got a class right down the hall. They’ll all come by, gawking and splashing in the water.”

“You mean he’ll be part of a crowd?” Devin said.

“We got somebody’ll put him in position,” Keyes said.

“How can I talk to him? We may not even recognize each other.”

“Work it out, pal,” Barton said. “We ain’t got all day.”

They reached the men’s-room door just as the bell rang. Devin held back, searching the faces of the children who burst from the classrooms.

“Come on,” Barton called. Devin followed him into the bathroom, now an inch deep in water.

“Look busy,” Barton said. “Take out the snake and start jammin’ it around.”

Devin sank to his knees and began trying to unclog one of the toilets. A dozen boys were looking in the door, savoring the disaster. Devin saw a boy he thought was his son, but then a teacher herded him toward a group of boys, moving them all toward their next class.

In the midst of the confusion, Miss Raleigh stood against a wall, helping the teachers and hall monitors keep an eye out. She caught sight of Billy walking with a group of his friends, pushing their way through the crowd to see what was going on.

Billy had reached the door of his class when Miss Raleigh stopped him.

“Billy, could you come with me for a minute?” she said.

“What’s up?”

“I have a message for the plumbers.” She handed him a folded slip of paper and started to walk with him back to the bathroom. When they reached the door, she guided him inside. “Thanks, Billy. I didn’t want to get my shoes wet.” She shut the door behind him and quickly walked away.

Billy heard the door close behind him and took a step forward toward the plumbers.

“Hey, there’s a note for you guys,” he announced. Devin slowly stood up and faced him. Billy returned his look, suddenly very nervous. There was something about the man . . .

“Billy,” Devin said.

“How’d you know my name?” the boy said, but softly, with wonder. “What’s going on here?”

Barton said, “The note’s for you, son.”

Billy unfolded the slip of paper and looked at the three scribbled words:
It’s your father.

He gazed at the tall, thin man in the overalls.

“Hi, William,” the man said gently.

“Dad?”

“You’re so big, I couldn’t believe it.”

Billy ran into Devin’s arms, five years of pent-up emotions exploding in tears. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.,” he sobbed.

“I know, I know.”

Barton started grabbing up tools trying to hide his emotions. “We gotta get out of here.”

Billy looked up at his father. “You’re not leaving again, are you?”

“I want you to come with me.”

“Where to? Mom says . .

“I don’t know. It may not be safe. But I want you with me. That’s where you belong.”

“I know. That’s what I want too.”

Barton walked to the door. “Let’s go,” he said. Keyes was waiting on the other side of the door. “You guys go out the way you came,” he said. “I’ll take Billy down the freight elevator.”

The boy turned to his father. “Dad?”

“It’s okay. We’ll meet outside.”

They embraced and then Billy and the old man hurried off. Devin and Barton ambled down the stairs at the leisurely pace of then profession.

“Hey, what about the toilets?” the assistant principal called to them.

“All fixed,” Barton assured him.

“What about this mess?” the man demanded, pointing to the small lagoon that now spread across the main hallway.

“Not our union, pal,” Barton said, and they marched out of the school.

The truck waited at the curb. They tossed their tools inside.

“What happened?” Clayton demanded.

Before Devin could answer, Billy and Keyes came running toward them. Devin embraced the old man. “How can I thank you?”

“Hell, I oughta thank you. I ain’t had so much fun in years,” the janitor said. “Take care of that boy; he’s not like a lot of them around here.”

Devin and Billy climbed into the back with Clayton and the truck lurched away. Devin laughed with relief and put his arm around Billy, holding him tight.

“Brother Clayton, I want you to meet my son, Billy.”

The SSU troops had worked quickly and efficiently: the Bradford home was now an empty house.

Amanda stood, a little dazed, in the middle of the living room, looking at the empty shell that had been her home for most of her adult life.

She felt like a gypsy, an Exile. She had not seen Peter in almost a week; her belongings were outside, packed in military trucks; and all that lay ahead was an abstraction called Omaha, plus the dubious honor of being first lady of Heartland.

She laughed bitterly. She had been first lady of this wonderful, vibrant, growing house for fifteen years, and nothing that politics or the PPP or the Russians could offer would ever equal that.

Scott came stomping down the stairs, clutching an old hockey stick. “Hey, Mom, let’s get crackin’.”

She gazed at him not in anger, but in wonder. “Aren’t you the least bit sorry to be leaving? Don’t you think?”

He shrugged. “Hey, we’re moving up to the big time. Can’t be too sentimental.”

“Your home . . . your friends.”

“You and dad are my home. And my friends’ll come see me in Omaha. I mean, it isn’t the moon.” Amanda sighed. “Sometimes I really wish I had your perspective. Or that you had mine.”

“Stay close, Mom. You’ll catch on.” He grinned and went outside.

Margaret, Amanda’s young aide-de-camp, popped in the door. “All set?”

Amanda hesitated. She liked Margaret. She wished she could tell her how it felt to be leaving a home you loved, and never intended to leave, but somehow she didn’t think Margaret—with all of her efficiency and decorum—would understand.

“I... I have to get Jackie,” Amanda said, and started up the stairs.

Her daughter was poised at the landing, in jeans and sweater, holding a cosmetics case.

“Honey, they’re waiting.”

Jackie didn’t even look at her. She seemed frozen.

“What’s the matter, baby?”

“I just got my room the way I want it.” Her voice was hushed, not far from a sob.

Amanda took her hand. “I know.”

“I love my room, I really do.”