Apricot brandy (29 page)

They got the mother and daughters back to a bus, with only one truck left of their original four, though with the addition of two chopped hogs parked outside a house with no survivors. Kyle and Sal were astride the hogs.

Thereafter, they rode the Harleys with their chainsaws slung from their backs by rope hawsers, and Molotovs and gas cans in their saddlebags. As the hours wore on, the rescuers’ casualties diminished as they learned the ropes, and as the caravan crept north, the buses filled with refugees.

In Bushmill, as the sun sank past the zenith, the cottage door at the Bide-a-Nite Motel swung open. A tired-looking woman in a T-shirt and jeans stepped out, untied her honey-blond hair and shook it loose. She stretched and leaned wearily back against the sun-struck stucco wall. Closing her eyes against the brightness, she pressed her arms against the wall, obviously relishing that heat through her thin shirt. It was obvious what Karen was in that moment: a woman who wanted simplicity, escape, who wanted to merge herself with the sunlight, and simply be free of everything else.

A breeze rolled through the foliage near her and stirred her hair. A second later, her eyes snapped open and, wonderingly, she touched her lips. Karen had felt it: a soft contact, cool as a breeze, and yet just like a kiss. She thought of Mom, Mom’s dear face in the rippling oak leaves. But this was not Mom’s kiss she had felt. It was more like Susan’s.

Turning her back to the road, she went to her knees, still leaning against the sun-warmed wall, and she wept, muffling the sound with her hands. At length she got up, dusted off her knees and went back inside. She brushed her hair and tied it back. Took up her little gym bag of belongings, paused to pick up Dad’s letter, and folded it back into its envelope.

Karen felt a sudden ache within her cast. Not the cracked metacarpal, but under the cast’s sleeve that covered her wrist. Slipping the letter into her bag, an image floated up from it: a skull-blown soldier climbing a cenote wall. And her wrist ached more sharply as she saw then her skull-blown father, face dead as a Mayan mask, while his icy grip crushed her wrist. Was this ache memory, or a new pain? She thrust her fingers into the cast, probed, and could not tell. She was drowning in death, that was the heart of it. The dead had her surrounded. But amidst all this horror, Kyle had come to her, had held and comforted her like he would a child. Thinking this, her tears welled back up, because it struck her that she had loved her sweet Susan, had loved her, but never
enough
.

Once again, she knew that her home was the orchard, she had to struggle to get past the terror of this revelation. Her previous home before had been Susan— not San Francisco, but Susan herself. Now, she must go home and face her dead. Had to wait the weeks or months it took till Wolf was clean bone and then scatter his skeleton far and wide. Had to go home and know that Dad
was
dead, had to know, finally and forever, that he could come to her
after
death only when the brandy’s sick magic had given him life. She set out down the street towards the heart of town.

The man in the tiny county bus-line office shook his head when she named her destination. “We’re a trunk line from Gravenstein. Nothing’s come out all day, so nothing’s going back.”

“But when… ”

“They don’t answer the phone! I plain can’t tell you when the next bus’s coming.”

Back at the gas station, the same pale-eyed young goon sat at the register, but a different voice answered her ring, a gravelly voice, brusquely alert. “Kyle. Yeah. He left early this morning. Shoulda reached Gravenstein this morning. You
know
Kyle?”

This intrusiveness startled her. “Why?”

“Why do I ask?”

“… Yeah.”

“I felt like it.”

“You’re a hotel. What do you care if I know him or not?”

“We’re not a hotel. We’re a halfway house. He puts up here for his parole hearings.”

“You’re really willing to tell his personal shit to strangers, aren’t you?” It was bizarre, how fast this was accelerating.

“Yeah, I am. I guess I just don’t give a shit.”

“Hey, I know he killed someone who tried to kill him and
I
don’t give a shit!” Death. Was she meant to drown in it from here on out?

“Well, of course, he’d blow that smoke up your ass, wouldn’t he, honey? But the guy he killed was a friend of mine and what Kyle says is a fuckin’ lie.”

“I bet you didn’t have the balls to tell him that to his face.”

“You must be trippin’, bitch! I tell him that every time I see him. But if you mean I wouldn’t front him in a fight, you’re absolutely right, because that fucker is one stone-cold killer. And even though you’re sweet on him, sunshine, I’d advise you to keep that in mind.” And the guy hung up.

The pale-eyed kid was staring at her. As she looked for her voice, for harsh words, he blinked, the first time she’d seen him do it. Pointed at his front window. “I saw you at the bus station. There’s a guy in town got a cab. He runs drunks out to their ranches on weekend nights.”

“Thank you. Where could I find him?”

“It’s a green an’ yella cab, parked on the main street usually.”

She found it in front of a saloon, a small joint crudely stuccoed to look like adobe, with two splintery old wagon wheels mounted on the façade. The place was so quiet from the sidewalk that it surprised her on the inside. There were at least two dozen men and women, most of them middle-aged, at the tables and bar. Soft country-western music from the jukebox engaged absolutely no one’s attention. Karen had all of that the minute she walked in and had it in spades when she went to the bar and asked the pouchy old guy polishing glasses, “Is the gentleman with the taxicab here?”

When the cabbie was pointed out, he proved to be the only person
not
looking at her: a skinny little black guy with shades and a goatee, wearing khaki, and bent on a game of hearts with two fat guys in CAT caps.
Studiously
not looking at her, it seemed.

“Excuse me.”

“I’m off.” He didn’t look up. “I don’t come on till four or five.”

“Which will it be? Four or five?”

“Five.”

“How much to Gravenstein?”

“’Fraid I don’t go that far.”

“I’d pay you extra. I’d pay you a hundred bucks.” Now everyone’s attention was really focused. This was better than TV. You could tell everyone thought it was a pretty good offer.

“Sorry. I don’ go that far.”

Some real drama developing now. Would the strange, tall, lesbo-looking, muscular blonde offer
more
?

The street door gusted open slightly and sighed shut again. It drew some curious looks, which quickly snapped back to Karen and the driver.

“Sorry, I’m off.” He fanned and sorted his hand, still not looking at her… and then half his cards sprang out of his fingers. He turned his face to her, blinking, amazed, as if he thought Karen somehow responsible. It turned out he had lovely, limpid eyes, which looked not only astonished, but somehow passionate. After an uncertain pause he rose dazedly, his voice hoarse, “Are you ready?” And he rose, awkwardly.

Everyone was really staring now— at each other, then back at him and Karen. Such fickleness was clearly out of character… .

It made Karen edgy, as she followed him out. The little man looked vague; he fumbled as he fished for his keys. Did she really need to go back now, after all? Did she still feel as sure about Kyle as she had before that phone call? But already she was in the back seat. Fuck it! The man swung the car from the curb and rolled out.

She sank back in the seat and attempted no conversation. The sneering voice on the phone nagged at her, describing a man that couldn’t be Kyle! She was
sure
of him… wasn’t she? Oh God! Everything before her was so dark and doubtful. Could she find the strength? She closed her eyes.

And opened them to find herself rolling down the drive of the Fox orchard, the sun edging down to the western quarter of the sky, the spidery plum trees all burnished copper in the slanting sun. How had the driver known where to bring her? She couldn’t remember telling him.

He sprang out and opened her door. Stood there offering her his hand. His smile as he did this was disorienting, so sweet it was, and he gripped her hand so firmly, so warmly, helping her out. There was something about his hand in hers, that hand not releasing hers as she stood before him. There was something about the
feel
of this hand in hers… .

And then his face was not his face, was Susan’s face instead, so dear, so close to hers. Karen scented Susan’s slightly musky smell, like a mink or ferret, and Karen saw before her Susan’s violet eyes and brave gamine lips. Karen kissed those lips, kissed them fiercely in her terror that this dear face would vanish before she could do so— in her dread that this irreplaceable little woman, not seized, would die again at once.

Deep within that kiss, Karen discovered joy and grief exactly equal, because as their tongues found each other’s, Karen knew past doubt that this
was
Susan, was the living Susan, present and knowing her now, knowing and kissing her in this instant. And at the same time Karen knew that within
this
Susan’s mouth, her lips and tongue were tasting only sky, were tasting only cold, fruitful October air. Karen knew that within
this
Susan’s face, her lips tasted all eternity, all blue space, all stars, but no longer tasted someone that she could hold, or have. Karen knew she was kissing a Susan who could only be with her in the way that sun on leaves, or snow-melt foaming over rocks could be with her— glories for the heart and mind to hold, but never again for her hands or her arms or her lips to possess.

“Yes, sweetheart, yes,” said this Susan of sky to her, answering her thoughts. “Sweet Karen, I am elsewhere, I am everywhere now. You don’t have me, but
I
have
you
, I have
everything
, as long as this earth spins. I am in and of its glory, because I have known love, which is always— whoever it is for— a Love of the World and Love of the World does not die. Be free of grief for me, my darling Karen. But listen to me— listen for your very life, listen for your everlasting soul. Though the green god took me, the witch saved me because the god’s power over our lives was not yet fully grown. But if the green god takes
your
soul, he will grow too mighty for the witch. And you, if he takes you, will dwell in the bowels of his world forever. You will dwell with Xibalba, in Xibalba forever. Don’t try to grasp it, just believe it, for you are
living it now
with each beat of your heart, and he is coming for you, coming for you in all his Power, with the fall of this night, and the rising of this full moon.”

“How will I fight? What will I fight with?”

“Whatever comes to hand. All this is hidden from the witch, as it is hidden from me. The witch is locked in battle. The whole valley south of here is the green god’s, and all things rooted in earth have power to hunt and devour you now. Fight
here
and fight with your very soul. Don’t leave these acres! If you don’t conquer here, you die, and you become flesh of the green god’s flesh, and flesh of his high priest, your father… .”

“Susan! Stay with me! Please!”

But Susan was already gone and in her place stood the lean little black man, his face struggling out of a trance-state, so that when she took her arms from around him, he almost fell, and she had to seize his shoulders and steady him. Their eyes were locked, but both of them were looking inward, not outward, were seeing strange landscapes new-opened within them, scarcely seeing each other at all.

“Where’ve I
been
?” Terror was in the cabby’s voice. Then he answered himself, his voice lower, awed. “I was… I was in the
sky
. I swear I was in the fuckin’
sky
! I was somewhere up in the sky and all the trees under me an all the grass was shaking and dancing.” Then at last, finally seeing Karen, he said, “You came into the tavern— ” glanced at the sky “— hours ago! Where are we?”

“
You
drove
me
! Maybe you were… drunk?”

“I don’t drink! I just play cards there!” But he said it dazedly, as if he too felt forced to at least entertain that hypothesis.

“Look. You drove me here. We’re about twenty miles out of Gravenstein. Would a hundred bucks do it?”

“I guess so… .”

“Hey. I’m kind of confused too. I mean, I just woke up! Maybe there’s something… in the air?”

“There is. Smell it? Oily smoke. Gas-fires. Somewhere down-valley… .”

“Here— ” she remembered Susan’s words of war to the south “— take this. Don’t go into town. Get straight back to Bushmill, that’s my advice.”

He stood as if harkening to something in the remote distance. Then he pocketed the money without answering at first. “Something going on down there. Don’t you hear it?”

“No.”

“It’s like… underground. Like voices. Underground… . “He shook himself, then looked at her suspiciously, as if all of his disorientation came from her. He got into the cab and spun it around. Spat gravel pulling out, raising a rooster-tail of dust behind him. She heard him hit the highway and accelerate to a howl. Karen listened till he’d vanished from hearing, then realized she was clinging to the noise until it was utterly gone, because now she had to hear the silence of the acres she stood in.

Hello old house, old trees… Why, I’ve cut a bunch of you down! But then, this is a strange place however you slice it! I mean, someone’s blown his own head off hereabouts and that would be you, Jack Fox! And down in the basement, someone
else’s
throat got blown out two nights ago— by a crazy old dyke, who would be
me
, in fact! And, just before that,
you
killed a young woman in a truck— just smashed the life right out of her. But you know what, you black-browed son of a bitch?
Her
spirit is still
alive
, she roams the sky and knows the sun and stars and loves me still. But you,
you’re
still alive too, aren’t you? You want my life now don’t you? And you’re coming to take it tonight.