A Tearful Reunion

by Darrell Maloney

  As Dave was sitting on the wooden bench seat of the rig, watching the skies for any signs of a storm ahead and wondering what became of Indian Joe, a Native American man was standing on the front porch of his house not far away.

  He was holding a cup of coffee and looking in the direction of the rig slowly rolling along the highway, although he couldn’t see it for the hills and trees.

  And Indian Joe wondered, perhaps not so coincidentally, of his friend Dave, and whatever became of him.

  There were clouds overhead, but they were thin and wouldn’t yield any rain on this particular night.

  It would have surprised Dave if they had, for this was a part of New Mexico which seldom got rain.

  The light of the day hadn’t yet started to fade, yet the moon was already clearly visible.

  It was in three-quarters phase, and would reflect plenty of light for them as they drove the team ever closer to Kansas City.

  There was a slight breeze which did nothing for them now, as it merely blew the hot air from one place to another.

  But as the skies grew dark and the air temperature dropped a bit, that same breeze would cool them and make them comfortable through the night.

  Dave was a lot more attentive than old Sal gave him credit for.

  “You know, Sal, I have an idea. And before you fight me on this, I want you to know that Beth and I have already discussed the idea and she agrees with me.”

  Sal was puzzled.

  “I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”

  “You haven’t said anything. You’re trying to hide it. But I’ve seen you wince whenever we go over a bump. You always turn your head and steel yourself, but as close as we are, it’s hard for you to hide it.

  “I’ve seen your face as you climb on and off the wagon, and how you seem to be relieved every time you step down and stretch your legs a bit.

  “And I’ve seen the look on your face when it’s time to leave again. How you approach the rig as a condemned man would approach the gas chamber.”

  “I wasn’t aware I was so transparent.”

  “Oh, you weren’t. I know you tried hard to hide your pain and I know why.

  “You might not believe this because of some of the stupid things I do from time to time. But I understand the whole ‘man pride’ thing. I’m a very proud man too. I hate to admit to others I’m not infallible, and I try to hide my pain as well.

  “I’m guessing, Sal, that back in the days when people went to see doctors when they were ailing, that you refused to go until Nellie forced you to.”

  Sal chuckled and confessed.

  “Yes. She pretty much had to threaten me to make me go to the doctor.”

  “I’m the same way, Sal. I know where you’re coming from.

  “And I’m not going to threaten you. But Beth and I have both noticed your pain and want to help.”

  “How?”

  Chapter 38

  As the rig rocked gently back and forth on a rough stretch of highway Dave detailed Beth’s idea.

  “We want you to let us drive the rig most of the time. She is capable of relieving me when I need a break. You’ve already seen that for yourself.”

  “Yes. I have and she certainly is.”

  “Beth has offered to give up the mattress in the bed of the truck so you can get comfortable. You don’t have to sleep. She has devised a way to turn the mattress into something more like a recliner. So that as we drive you can see us, even converse with us. But at the same time you’ll be very comfortable.”

  “And this was Beth’s idea?”

  “Yes. The next time we stop to stretch our legs would you like for her to show you?”

  Sal Ambrosio was an obstinate old coot. No one would ever argue that.

  But his back pain, and the way it intensified when driving the ever-swaying rig, made him at least consider the idea.

  “Sure. I’d like to see her plan.”

  Beth, riding in the cab of the converted pickup, could very clearly hear every one of their words. Sal had removed the windshield when he made the rig so Nellie would be more comfortable in the oppressive heat.

  She spoke up for the first time.

  “Oh, you’ll love my idea, Grandpa Sal. It’s absolutely genius!”

  “I thought you were asleep, Peanut.”

  “I was starting to nod off until I heard my name, Daddy. Then I just had to sit up and see what you were saying about me.

  “And by the way, it’s about darn time you told him about my idea. I was about ready to give up on you and tell him meself.”

  “Meself? Are you Popeye now?”

  “Meself, myself. You know what I mean.”

  Dave turned back to Sal and asked, “I feel a need to empty my bladder anyway. Wanna take a rest stop now and check out Popeye’s scheme?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  Since they’d left Adelanto they’d gathered their food and water a few cases at a time from abandoned tractor trailers along the way.

  Their provisions and supplies, such as cook pots and backpacks, were stored on the driver’s side of the pickup. Sal removed the steering wheel before they left to make a bit more space, and everything fit quite nicely.

  “Beth’s plan,” Dave explained as Sal dismounted, “is to take those cases of bottled water, and the cases of food, and to place them at the back end of the pickup bed beneath the mattress.

  “The idea is to raise up the end of the mattress when we’re on the move. To elevate it a couple of feet. That way you can lay upon it, facing the truck’s cab. It’ll be more a recliner than a bed. And you can see us and we can see you when we turn around.

  “Most of all, we can all continue to converse. We might have to raise our voices just a bit, but that shouldn’t be a tough adjustment to make.

  “You’ll get off this wooden bench which tends to sway back and forth, and on a soft mattress where you can be more comfortable.”

  Beth interrupted him by boasting, “Admit it, Grandpa Sal. It’s a great idea, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, it’s a splendid idea, child. Absolutely splendid.

  “But I’ll only do this if you agree to let me drive the wagon one third of the time. I refuse to shirk my duties just for the chance to be comfortable.”

  “Oh Grandpa Sal, I don’t mind you driving the wagon. I know it’s something you love to do and you’re proud of doing.

  “I just want you to know that when you’re hurting or don’t feel like driving that it’s okay to say so. That’s all.”

  “You’re a child who’s wise beyond your years,” he said.

  She bit her lower lip, not knowing quite how to respond.

  “Is that a slam?”

  “No child, it is most certainly not a slam. It’s a compliment. It means you’re smarter than every other eight year old girl on this planet or any other.”

  “Oh. Then thank you.”

  As it turned out, Sal liked the new “recliner” in the bed of the truck.

  They could tell by the loud snoring which came wafting their way just a few minutes after Sal crawled in the back to take a “short rest.”

  As they rode slowly along into the dark night Beth pondered Sal’s words: “On this planet or any other.”

  “Daddy, do you think there’s life on other planets?”

  “I don’t know, honey. Maybe. There are a lot of other planets out there. Billions. I’d say the chances are pretty good.”

  “But in Sunday School Mrs. Branson taught us that people who believed there was life on other planets didn’t really believe in God. She said God created the heavens and the earth, because that’s what it says in the Bible.”

  “Well, Peanut, that’s one way of looking at it.

  “But you can look at it another way as well. Nowhere in the Bible does it say we are the only beings God created. He might have put life on other planets as well.

  “Perhaps he created life on ten other planets besides earth. Maybe he gave them their
own names. And maybe the people on those planets have their own Bible.

  “Maybe they don’t know about us, just like we don’t know about them.

  “Maybe they think they’re the only beings God created, just as the people of earth do.

  “But if you think about it, those who believe God created only us are putting limitations on God’s grace. If He cared enough to create us, why wouldn’t He care enough to make others on other planets as well?

  “Now, I’m not saying that Mrs. Branson is wrong, mind you. I’m just saying that we don’t know everything about God. And since so much about God is a mystery, there’s a chance He did a lot more stuff we simply don’t know about.”

  “Will we ever know?”

  “I don’t know, Peanut. Maybe.

  “Some day you’ll be in heaven, and you can walk around and talk to people and ask where they’re from. If any of them say they’re from the planet Zontar or the planet Sputnik then you’ll know that God’s love and power was far greater than the people of earth gave Him credit for.”

  Chapter 39

  Life of late had become a rather hum-drum routine, once all the rules were established.

  And ownership understood.

  Kara belonged to John Parker, but he’d decided to “own” her not to abuse her, but to protect her from the others. She was young and easily manipulated, Parker told Sarah. He couldn’t allow her to be left alone with the wolves.

  Sarah’s sister Karen was owned by the worst of the savages and their leader, known affectionately as “Scarface.” Scarface Manson was vicious, but Sarah was told to get word to Karen she could temper his abuse by keeping him intoxicated and off his game.

  It seemed to work fairly well.

  Sarah herself was the property of no one. According to Scarface she was to be shared with the troops.

  Any effort to refuse them would likely be met with a severe beating.

  But even then Parker offered her a way out.

  “Find a man you think is decent and profess your love to him. The others will back off.”

  She protested.

  “I can’t do that. I’m a married woman.”

  “If you’re a married woman then where’s your husband?”

  “We… we were separated by the blackout. He stayed in San Antonio when we flew here for a wedding.”

  It wasn’t an untruth. Not entirely. Sarah was a terrible liar but was stretching the truth just a bit.

  She just left out the part where Dave had gone to Albuquerque to find their daughter and would be back.

  As for Lindsey and the other children, they were considered innocents and were off-limits to everyone. Some of the more evil men might want to try, but knew Parker would shoot them dead if they did.

  Sarah had given her daughter Lindsey explicit instructions to stay away from the back part of the bunker. Not to go there under any circumstances.

  At first she didn’t understand.

  “But Mom… why?”

  Sarah avoided her gaze and said, “Just stay away from there.”

  Then Lindsey put two and two together.

  “But Mom, maybe I can help you.”

  “No honey. If you try you might get yourself killed. Or even worse. Just do as I say and stay away.”

  The first few days were the worst.

  Sarah was passed around like a bottle of tequila among drunken sailors.

  Her one demand was if they were going to have their way with her, they were to take her to the back of the bunker where the children couldn’t see.

  It was almost the worst period in her life. The only time she could remember that was worse was six years before. Dave had been on a patrol outside of Fallujah and had gotten lost. Then lost radio contact. For three agonizing days they were feared captured or dead.

  Word quickly got back to Sarah and she slept not a wink for those three days. What was worse, she kept the information from Lindsey and Beth.

  Beth was just a baby then, oblivious to the whole thing.

  But Lindsey was a different story… she knew something dreadful had happened but didn’t know what. Still, though, she agonized with her mom, holding her close every chance she got.

  This was a lot like that. Sarah was being ravaged three, sometimes four times a day. She was careful to keep the details to herself.

  But Lindsey knew.

  She didn’t know the specifics, but she knew her mother was going through a special kind of hell.

  On the eighth day Sarah made note that one of the men… Santos… had never laid a hand on her.

  Never even tried.

  She thought about it and decided she knew why.

  When Santos was alone in the center of the bunker, trying to nap, Sarah went to him.

  He was in a rather surly mood.

  “What the hell do you want?”

  “Relax, Mr. Santos. All I want to do is talk.”

  “And why would I want to talk to you? I’m tired and I want to sleep.”

  “Oh, come now, Mr. Santos. What I have to say is of great interest to you. Just hear me out and you’ll agree.”

  He sat up on the bunk.

  He still didn’t particularly want to converse with her, but he was curious.

  “This better be good,” he said.

  “Back in the sane world I was a high school teacher. Algebra and first year geometry.

  “I was off one period in the afternoon, and on the days I had no papers to grade I typically spent it in the teacher’s lounge.

  “I had a good friend, a man named Spencer Woodley. Spencer was a history teacher and an assistant football coach.

  “As we became close, he knew he could trust me enough to confide in me.

  “He lived and worked in a very masculine world. A world where men went out of their way to prove how tough they were. How manly they were. Testosterone ruled the locker room and the field house and the football field.

  “He had trouble with that, you see, because he had a secret he was keeping from everyone.

  “He loved his job, he loved the players, he loved being able to contribute his knowledge of football into helping our school win the regional championship three years in a row.

  “He was terrified that if the school district found out he was gay he would have lost his job immediately. Even though he never went into the locker room, never was in a position to assault or molest any of the players, he’d have been drummed out of the district.

  “And he’d have been blackballed.

  “Oh, they would have denied it, but word gets around. People whisper. If he’d come out of the closet, his career would have been ruined. He wouldn’t have been able to get another job coaching football anywhere in the country.”

  Santos started to squirm, as though he knew what was coming.

  Still, he had to play this thing through.

  “Just what does any of this have to do with me?”

  “Because, Mr. Santos, you remind me an awful lot of my friend Spencer Woodley.”

  Chapter 40

  Panic flashed in Santos’ eyes.

  “What in hell do you want with me?”

  “Relax. I want to make a deal with you.”

  She sensed he wanted to hit her, or even worse. But he kept his anger in check.

  “I’m listening.”

  “First of all, my friend’s name wasn’t really Spencer Woodley. That doesn’t make any difference to you, since you don’t know him. I merely point it out because I want you to know I can keep a secret.

  “When my friend came out to me I made sure he had no access to the team’s locker room or showers. And once I was confident he didn’t, I let the issue slide. There were other gay teachers on our faculty and he became just another one.

  “We continued to be friends and I never revealed his secret to anyone until today.”

  “Get to the point.”

  “I’m tired of being forced to share my body with your friends. I’m tired of being passed around l
ike I’m not even a human being.

  “You, on the other hand, are desperate to keep your secret. You, like my friend the football coach, live in a very manly environment. You are afraid that if your gang knew you were gay they might make you an outcast. They might send you away. They might even kill you.”

  Santos had a sick look on his face. It corresponded with the nauseous feeling he had in the pit of his stomach.

  “It seems to me we can help each other, Mr. Santos.”

  “Oh yeah? And just how, exactly?”

  “It’s only a matter of time before the other members of your gang notice you’re not participating in their activities when it comes to me.

  “I mean, I hear them occasionally bragging about the things they did to me or made me do to them.

  “Don’t you think it’s just a matter of time before they notice you never brag about your own exploits? And that they won’t compare notes and realize you’ve never taken me to the back to have your way with me?”

  That more than anything else she’d said to that point got his attention.

  Because it made sense.

  “What are you proposing?”

  “You are desperate to keep your friends from finding out you’re gay.

  “I, on the other hand, am desperate to stop being raped and abused several times a day.

  “It seems to me we should team up.”

  “What part don’t you understand, I’m not into women?”

  “That’s just it. You don’t have to be. You can take me back to the back of the bunker two or three times a day. Bring a deck of cards. We’ll play poker. I’ll kick your ass.

  “Or we can talk about the old world. My kids. Whatever. The point is, when I’m back there with you I don’t have to worry about being raped by somebody else. And you won’t have to worry about anybody finding out you’re gay.”

  “Aren’t you worried? I mean, I could wrap my hands around your scrawny little neck and squeeze the life out of you right now. That would solve the problem and would be a lot easier.”

  “I don’t think so, Mr. Santos. What would your friends say when they found out you took away their plaything?