Roadside Picnic (19 page)

He looked at Arthur’s back again and watched through squinted eyes as the boy stepped over two ties at a time, broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped. His dark raven hair, like his sister’s, bounced rhythmically. He asked for it, Redrick thought grimly. Himself. Why did he beg to come along so persistently? So desperately? He trembled and had tears in his eyes. “Take me, Mr. Schuhart! Lots of people have offered to take me along, but they’re all no good! My father ... but he can’t take me now!” Redrick forced himself to drop the memory. He was repelled by the thought and maybe that’s why he started thinking about Arthur’s sister. He just could not fathom it: how such a fantastic-looking woman could actually be a plastic fake, a dummy. It was like the buttons on his mother’s blouse – they were amber, he remembered, semitransparent, and golden. He just wanted to shove them in his mouth and suck on them, and every time he was disappointed terribly, and every time he forgot about the disappointment – not forgot, just refused to accept what his memory told him.

Maybe it was his pop who sent him over to me, he thought about Arthur. Look at the piece he’s carrying in his back pocket. Nah, I doubt it. Buzzard knows me. Buzzard knows that I don’t go for jokes. And he knows what I’m like in the Zone. No, that’s all nonsense. He’s not the first to have begged me, and not the first to have shed tears; others even got down on their knees. And as for the piece, they all bring guns on their first time in the Zone. The first and last time. Is it really the last? It’s your last, bud. Here’s how it works out, Buzzard: his last. Yes, if you knew what your sonny boy was planning – you would have beaten him to a pulp with your crutches. He suddenly felt that there was something ahead of them – not far, some thirty or forty yards away.

“Stop,” he told Arthur.

The boy obediently froze in his tracks. His reflexes were good – he had stopped with one foot in the air, and he lowered it slowly and carefully. Redrick stopped next to him. The track dipped noticeably here and disappeared completely in the fog. And there was something in the fog. Something big and motionless. Harmless. Redrick carefully sniffed the air. Yes. Harmless.

“Forward,” he said quietly. He waited for Arthur to take a step and he followed. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Arthur’s face, his chiseled profile, the clear skin of his cheek, and the determined set of his lips under the thin mustache.

They were up to their waists in fog, and then up to their necks. A few seconds later the great hulk of the ore cars loomed ahead of them.

“That’s it,” Redrick said and took off his backpack. “Sit down right where you are. Smoke break.”

Arthur helped him with the backpack, and they sat down next to each other on the rusty rails. Redrick unbuttoned a flap and took out a package with sandwiches and a thermos of coffee. While Arthur set up the sandwiches on top of the backpack, Redrick took out his flask, opened it, closed his eyes, and took several slow sips.

“Want some?” he offered, wiping the neck of the flask. “For courage?”

Arthur shook his head, hurt.

“I don’t need that for courage, Mr. Schuhart. I’d rather have coffee, if I may. It’s awfully damp here, isn’t it?”

“It’s damp.” He put away the flask, chose a sandwich, and set to chewing. “When the fog lifts, you’ll see that we’re surrounded by nothing but swamps. In the old days the mosquitoes were something fierce.”

He shut up and poured himself some coffee. It was hot, thick, and sweet, and it was even nicer to drink now than alcohol. It smelled of home. Of Guta. And not just of Guta, but of Guta in her robe, fresh from sleep, with pillow marks still on her cheek. Why did I get mixed up in this, he thought? Five hundred thousand. And what do I need it for? Planning to buy a bar with it or something? You need money so you don’t have to think about money. That’s the truth. Dick was right about that. You have a house, you have a yard, you won’t be without a job in Harmont. Buzzard trapped me, lured me like a tenderfoot.

“Mr. Schuhart,” Arthur suddenly said, looking away. “Do you really believe this thing grants wishes?”

“Nonsense!” Redrick muttered distractedly and froze over the cup near his lips. “How do you know what we’re after here?”

Arthur smiled in embarrassment, ran his fingers through his hair, tugged at it, and spoke.

“Well, I guessed! I don’t remember exactly what gave me the clue. Well, first of all, Father was always going on and on about the Golden Ball, and lately he’s stopped. And he has been talking about you. And I know better than to believe Father about you being friends. And secondly, he’s been kind of strange lately.” Arthur laughed and shook his head, remembering something. “And finally, I figured it out, when you and he tried out the little dirigible over in the lot.” He smacked the backpack that contained the tightly rolled balloon. “I followed you and when I saw you lift the bag with rocks and guide it over the ground, it was all clear to me. As far as I know, the Golden Ball is the only heavy thing left in the Zone.” He took a bite out of his sandwich and spoke dreamily with his mouth full: “I just don’t understand how you plan to hook onto it, it’s probably smooth.”

Redrick watched him over the rim of the cup and thought how unlike each other they were, father and son. They had absolutely nothing in common. Not face, or voice, or soul. Buzzard had a hoarse, whiny, sneaky kind of voice. But when he talked about this, his voice was hearty. You couldn’t ignore him. “Red,” he had said then, leaning over the table. “There are only two of us left, and only two legs for both, and they’re yours. Who else but you? It’s probably the most valuable thing in the Zone! And who should have it? Should those wise guys with their machinery get it? Hah? I found it. Me! How many of our boys fell there? But I found it! I was saving it for myself. And I wouldn’t be giving it to anyone now, but as you see, my arms have gotten too short. There’s nobody left but you. I dragged lots of young ones in there, a school full. I opened a school for them, you see ... they can’t. They don’t have the guts for it, or something. All right, you don’t believe me, I don’t care. You want the money. You get it. You give me as much as you want. I know you won’t gyp me. And maybe I’ll be able to get my legs back. My legs, do you understand? The Zone took them away, and maybe it’ll give them back?”

“What?” Redrick asked, coming out of his reverie.

“I asked, do you mind if I smoke, Mr. Schuhart?”

“Sure. Go ahead and smoke. I’ll have one too.” He gulped the rest of the coffee, pulled out a cigarette, and as he squeezed it, he gazed into the thinning fog. A psycho, he thought. He’s nuts. He wants his legs back, the bastard.

All this talk had left a residue, he was not sure of what. And it was not dissolving with time, but on the contrary, it was accumulating. And he could not understand what it was, but it was bothering him. It was as though he had caught something from Buzzard, not some disgusting disease, but on the contrary ... his strength, perhaps? No, not strength. But what then? All right, he told himself. Let’s look at it this way: let’s assume that I didn’t get this far. I was all ready to go, packed, and then something happened, they arrested me, say.

Would that be bad? Definitely. Why bad? Because I would lose money? No, it has nothing to do with the money. That this treasure will fall into the hands of Throaty and Bones? There’s something in that. It would hurt. But what do I care? In the end, they’ll get it all anyway.

“Brrrrrr.” Arthur shivered. “It gets into your bones. Mr. Schuhart, maybe now you’ll give me a sip?”

Redrick got the flask silently. I didn’t agree right away, he thought. Twenty times I told Buzzard to get lost, and on the twenty-first I agreed, after all. I couldn’t take it any more. Our last conversation turned out to be brief and businesslike. “Hi, Red. I brought the map. Maybe you’ll take a look at it, after all?” And I looked into his eyes, and they were like sores – yellow with black dots – and I said “Let me have it.” And that was it. I remember that I was drunk then, I had been drinking all week, I felt really low. Ah, the hell with it. Does it matter? I went. So here I am. Why am I worrying about it? What am I, afraid?

He shuddered. He could hear a long sad sound through the fog. He jumped up and Arthur jumped up too. But it was quiet again, and the only sound was the gravel tumbling down the incline under their feet.

“Must be the ore settling,” Arthur whispered unsurely, barely able to get the words out. “The ore cars have a history – they’ve been here a long time.”

Redrick looked straight ahead and saw nothing. He remembered. It was at night. He woke up from the same sound, sad and long, his heart stopping, like in a dream. Only it hadn’t been a dream. It was Monkey screaming in her bed by the window. Guta woke up, too, and took Redrick’s hand. He could feel the sweat break out on her shoulder against his. They lay there and listened, and when Monkey stopped crying and went back to sleep, he waited a little longer, then got up, went down to the kitchen, and greedily drank a half-bottle of cognac, That was the night he started drinking.

“It’s the ore,” Arthur said. “You know, it settled with time. The dampness, erosion, all kinds of things like that.”

Redrick looked at his pale face and sat down again. His cigarette had disappeared somewhere from his fingers, and he lit another one. Arthur stood a little longer, looking around anxiously, then he also sat down.

“I’ve heard that there’s life in the Zone. People. Not visitors, but people. It seems the Visitation caught them here, and they mutated ... they’ve acclimated to the new conditions. Have you heard that, too, Mr. Schuhart?”

“Yes,” Redrick said. “But not here. In the mountains in the northwest. Some shepherds.”

That’s what he’s infected me with, he thought. His madness. That’s why I’ve come here. That’s what I want here. A strange and very new feeling overwhelmed him. He was aware that the feeling was really not new at all, that it had been hidden in him for a long time, but that he was acknowledging it only now, and everything was falling into place. And everything that had seemed like nonsense and the delirious ravings of a crazy old man turned out to be his only hope, the only meaning of his life. Because he finally understood: the only thing he had left in the world, the only thing he lived for in the last few months was the hope of a miracle. Fool that he was, he kept pushing hope away, trampling on it, mocking it, trying to drink it away, because that was the way he was used to living. Since childhood he had relied on nothing but himself. And since childhood this self-reliance had been measured in the amount of money he could snatch, grab, or bite away from the indifferent chaos that surrounded him. It had always been that way, and it would have continued, if he had not ended up in a hole that no amount of money could get him out of and in which it was absolutely useless to rely on himself. And now this hope – no longer a hope, but confidence in a miracle – filled him to the brim, and he was amazed at how he could have lived for so long in the impenetrable, exitless gloom. He laughed and gave Arthur a poke in the shoulder.

“Well, stalker, think we’ll live through this, eh?”

Arthur looked at him in surprise and smiled uncertainly. Redrick crumpled up the waxed paper from the sandwiches, tossed it under the ore car, and lay down, his elbow on the backpack.

“All right,” he said. “Let’s say that the Golden Ball really – what would you wish?”

“You mean, you do believe?” Arthur asked quickly.

“That’s not important whether or not I believe. You answer my question.”

He really was interested in what such a young boy, a schoolboy just yesterday, could ask of the Golden Ball. He enjoyed watching Arthur frown, tug at his mustache, and look up at him and look away.

“Well, dad’s legs, of course. And for everything to be all right at home.”

“You’re lying,” Redrick said pleasantly. “Keep this in mind, brother. The Golden Ball only grants your deepest, innermost wishes, the kind that if they’re not granted, it’s all over for you!”

Arthur Burbridge blushed, looked up at Redrick once more, and became even redder. His eyes filled with tears. Redrick grinned.

“I understand,” he said almost gently. “All right, it’s none of my business. Keep your secrets to yourself.” He suddenly remembered the gun and thought that while he had the time he should take care of whatever could be taken care of. “What’s that in your back pocket?” he asked casually.

“A gun.”

“What do you need it for?”

“To shoot!” Arthur said challengingly.

“Forget it,” Redrick said firmly and sat up. “Give it here. There’s nobody to shoot at in the Zone. Give it to me.”

Arthur wanted to say something, but kept silent, took the Army Colt from his pocket and handed it to Redrick by the barrel. Redrick took the gun by its warm textured handle, tossed it up in the air, and caught it.

“Do you have a handkerchief or something? I want to wrap it up.”

He took Arthur’s handkerchief, clean and smelling of cologne, wrapped the gun in it, and put it on the railroad tie.

“We’ll leave it here for now. God willing, we’ll come back and pick it up. Maybe we’ll have to shoot it out with the patrol guards. However, shooting it out with them ... ”

Arthur decisively shook his head.

“That’s not what I wanted it for,” he said sadly. “There’s only one bullet. In case of an accident like Father’s.”

“So, that’s it.” Redrick stared at him. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that. If that should happen, I’ll drag you back here. I promise. Look, it’s getting light!”

The fog was disappearing before their eyes. It was completely gone from the embankment and in the distance it was thinning, melting away and showing the rounded bristly peaks of the hills. Here and there between the hills could be seen the mottled surface of the stagnant swamps, covered with sparse thickets of willows, and the horizon, beyond the hills, was filled with bright yellow explosions of mountain peaks, and the sky above them was clear and blue. Arthur looked back and gasped with awe. Redrick looked too. In the east the mountains looked black, and over them the familiar green wash of color billowed and shone iridescently – the Zone’s green dawn.