The boy had been almost sleeping. “’Course it will” he answered.
“Good” said Frost. “I’m glad.”
“There’s King” said the boy, pointing. A dog came out of a patch of thistles. There was a rabbit in its mouth. The rabbit’s legs hung limp. Puppy burst out of the thistles and made a move to grab King’s catch, but King growled and pranced on ahead with the rabbit. The workhorse stopped and looked toward the dog, and King let the horse have a sniff. The horse snorted and tossed its head. The boy clucked and said “C’mon, Beauty” and the horse tramped forward again, swinging its great feet. King stopped to try to eat his rabbit. Puppy lay watching a few feet away.
“Lot of rabbits this year” said Frost. “Aren’t the squatters eating them?”
“Maybe they don’t have snares.”
“Could you make some snares?”
“’Course I could.”
“Trade them, don’t give them away. That way they won’t be offended.”
The boy lay forward with his face against the horse’s collar. A purple Christmas ornament was tied into the mane. Frost studied the thing. The sun was reflected in it. “God” he said. ‘That is pretty. Isn’t that pretty?” But he looked as if there was something terribly sad in its beauty.
The boy was asleep.
They crossed a side channel of the river over Little Bridge. A few hundred yards to the north a bridge as big as Frost’s crossed the main channel at a slant, running southwest to northeast. The knocking of Beauty’s hoofs on the surface of Little Bridge woke the boy. He sat up and looked back. “They’re comin’” he said, and then the dogs were beside them, King toting what remained of the rabbit carcass.
They veered right, off the road. Beauty picked her way down an overgrown slope, and they skirted the angled slabs of a collapsed overpass. Beauty stepped carefully across a holed and buckled boulevard. Soon Frost motioned, and the boy directed the horse toward an alder stump near the trail. The boy swung his leg over the horse’s head and jumped off. Frost slid carefully down to the stump. Then he bent and stepped off it. He handed the boy two lengths of twine, and the boy called the dogs and leashed them. The dogs sat, and leaned against his legs.
Frost said “Now, what’s the man’s name?”
“Bundy. Mr. Bundy.”
“Not what?”
“Not Fundy. Why does everyone call him Fundy if that’s not his name?”
“He’s a fundamentalist Christian. A fundy. He believes everything that’s written in the bible. He’s not a very civilized man in that respect. But we are, aren’t we?”
“Yes, Grampa.”
A bank of cloud on the horizon was preparing to erase what was left of the sun. The boy said “Looks like it’s going to rain. Maybe it will put out the fire on Grouse Mountain.”
“Yes” said the old man. “It could. But it’s too late. The mountain’s all burnt off.”
“It’ll grow back.”
The old man said nothing.
The boy said “Will there be snow this year?”
“Hard to say, Will. What do you think?”
“It’s gettin’ colder. I think it could snow. So I guess everythin’ is all covered in white?”
“It is.”
“And if you go out in the middle of the night you can still see, because the snow reflects the light?”
“That’s right.”
“And it’s so quiet.”
“Yes. Quiet and peaceful.”
“Hushed” said the boy. “It’s hushed.”
King gave a whine. The boy took a wrap of the twine with each hand. Across the field there was a shout. Two men were coming. One of them waved. The other man, younger, held two dogs, who were pulling him forward. Frost walked toward them a few paces. Then he waited, studying his new shoes. When he looked up he saw that the two men were hurrying. The older man, who was tall and bald, called “Frost! Frost!”
Frost sighed and put together a smile and said “Abraham, what’s got you worked up this time? Don’t tell me you’re….”
But the younger man cut him off. “Where’s Noor? Is Noor comin’?” He had a real shirt, blue and clean. He had dark hair, tied back. It had been wetted. He took long ungainly strides behind the dogs. There was an expression of panic on his face. “But where’s Noor? Noor never comes. It’s not fair.” He stopped and jerked the dogs back roughly. He clenched his teeth and moaned with rage.
Fundy caught up and, as he passed the younger man, gave him a hard backhand slap on the ear. “Shut up, Solomon.”
The younger man started to weep. His head flopped forward. He let go of the dogs. His arms hung limp. The dogs bounded away. Frost turned and nodded to Will, who released King and Puppy. The four dogs raced off to frolic. With head hanging, Solomon trudged back across the field.
Frost extended his hand, but Fundy just threw up his arms and yelled “They took my bridge! They that sow wickedness reap the same. By the blast of God they perish, and by the breath of his nostrils are they consumed.”
“Hold, on, Abraham. What do you mean they took your bridge?”
“They took it! They took it, Frost. They just took it. Behold, the Lord will come with fire, and with his chariots like a whirlwind.” Fundy shook both fists.
Frost nodded and folded his arms and waited.
“He will render his rebuke with flames of fire.” Fundy glared at Frost.
“I’m not arguing with you, Abraham.”
“They took my bridge.”
“Your big bridge?”
“And the Lord…”
“The one commonly referred to as Fundy’s Bridge?”
“Yes, yes, yes. What’s the matter with you, man – haven’t you heard a word I’ve said?”
“Someone took over your bridge – is that what you’re saying?”
“For the slain of the Lord shall be many. Woe unto those who….”
“Abraham, shut up. Just shut up.”
Fundy took a deep shuddering breath and folded his arms and looked at the ground. After a few seconds he said “Skaggers. The skaggers took it over. A bunch of them come with weapons and drove my people back to this end. They want toll. Big toll.”
“Noor says you weren’t at the market this morning.”
“I ain’t payin’ toll on my own bridge. And the Lord… And the Lord…”
“You can use my bridge to get to market, Abraham. No toll. It’s best to stay away from the skaggers.”
“I already got a bridge, Frost. No bunch of scabby drug dealers is going to take what the Lord God put in my hands.”
“Now, don’t go do anything stupid, Abraham. Why don’t you and your family come and stay with us for a while? It’ll be safer for you. Your workers can run the farm. Until we can figure out what to do about your bridge.”
“I ain’t stayin’ at your place, Frost.”
Frost did not speak for a few seconds. Then he frowned and nodded wearily and said “I see. Well, I didn’t think you would, actually.”
“You got that nigger.”
Frost put two fingers to his mouth and whistled. He turned and walked back to the horse. King and Puppy were soon there. Frost and Will grabbed their collars. Fundy chased his dogs and tried to get hold of the leashes. Soon he gave up and headed back across his field. The dogs followed. Frost released his own dogs, who waited, wagging their tails. He set Will on Beauty, stepped up onto the alder stump and mounted the horse himself.
“Getting dark” he said.
3
Blackie loped on ahead, veered into a patch of scrub, appeared again in the distance, sniffing at the ground in his zigzag way, then disappeared once more behind a mound of blackberry. He was at the dwelling when they arrived, taking in the smells of the place.
A woman sat beside Frost on the wagon seat. She was a woman of late middle age, with sad grey eyes.
Frost got off the wagon. The woman did not. “Is this all toll?” she said, nodding toward the load of produce behind her.
“Yes, it is, most of it. Not the eggs.” said Frost. “The bridge brings in a lot.”
The house was a corner of a fallen concrete building. A complete panel of quarter-inch plywood leaned against a wall, covering a hole. Its layers had separated and spread, so that it resembled a blossom of rotted and soggy veneer. There was a door hole, over which hung various fragments of plastic. Blackie stood staring at a particular point in the plastic. The plastic moved. Blackie stepped back and set to barking.
“Quiet, Blackie.” ordered Frost.
A man crawled out under the plastic. “Arf, yourself” he said to the dog as he slowly stood. Blackie wagged his tail and went forward to sniff at the man and have his head scratched.
“I could use a dog” said the man to Frost. “Could you get me a dog?”
He was old, thin and bald. But the white hair that grew above his ears hung down to his waist, as did his stringy beard. He had a wool poncho and a wool kilt but no shoes. His odour was primal and aggressive.
Frost said “I can’t get you a dog, Christopher. Dogs can fall into the wrong hands. We have to be careful about that. It seems to me I have told you this before. You couldn’t feed a dog, anyway. But I can get you some shoes. Can I send you a pair of sandals?”
“You can send ’em. But I can’t promise that I’ll wear ’em.”
“Why the hell don’t you come and live on the farm? We can keep you warm and safe and fed. This is no way to live. Out here alone.”
“I seen your farm, Frost. Too many people. Just send me a dog.”
“No dog, Christopher. Have you got something to put your produce in?”
The old man squatted and reached under the plastic flap and pulled out a dirty yellow plastic bowl. He came to the wagon.
“This is Grace” said Frost. “She’s our medic.”
“I know. You ain’t gettin’ me to no clinic, either.” He took two heads of cabbage. “No squash?”
“Not yet.” Frost filled a bucket with potatoes and carrots and turnips and dumped it on the ground near the shack, then filled the bucket again and dumped it again. He set the bucket in the wagon. He reached under the seat and took out three eggs and laid them on the ground near the produce.
“I got no fire” said the old man.
“I’ll send you a fire-maker.”
“I got no wood.”
“Look around. There’s wood. Sticks at least. Have you got a pot?”
“Of course I got a pot. What do you take me for?”
Frost climbed up beside Grace and flicked the reins, and the steer started out.
Soon they found the remnants of a road and turned north beside it, in the direction of the farm. In a while, back off the road they saw a garden and another ruined building. A man was working in the garden. He called “Hello Frost.”
Frost called back “Need anything, Chow?”
“No, I’m okay. The rain come in time.”
It was a chill day. Although it was overcast the cloud was high and the air had a deep clarity to it. The rain had put out the fire on Grouse Mountain. To the north a stack of white smoke leaned east above the burnt forest.
Grace rhythmically twisted the fabric of her poncho where it lay on her lap. She said “Are you worried about Fundy’s Bridge?”
“Yes I am.”
“What can we do?”
“I’m just afraid Langley wants Fundy’s farm. But Fundy is strong. As long as he doesn’t do something stupid. Anyway, Fundy doesn’t want our help. You know how he is.”
“Langley is unpredictable” she said, twisting the cloth.
They turned off onto a grassy trail that was almost too narrow for the wagon. Frost said “What’s wrong?”
“We should get more opium.”
“It’s not opium. It’s skag.”
“I hate that word. Langley could cut us off. We have to be prepared.”
“What you got cost me a whole load of potatoes. What – you don’t think it will last through the winter? Are we going to have a war or what? That bastard – come spring I plant my own poppies.”
They came to a building, smaller than the previous ones, but apparently whole. It was almost invisible under a burden of blackberry. Two girls were working in the garden, pulling up turnips. They were naked and were daubed with wet earth. When Blackie looked in their direction and pricked up his ears they held their turnips closer and leaned toward one another and were very still. When the wagon stopped, Grace closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths and gripped Frost’s hand tightly. Then she climbed down from the wagon, as did Frost.
A weak, ragged scream came from the darkened door. Frost lifted aside the several layers of clear plastic. They went in. There were no windows in this corner of the building, but sufficient light came through the door. There was a fire pit circled by concrete building blocks. There was a car seat on which lay a woman covered by a fragment of wool blanket and an abundance of rags. A man squatted beside her, holding her hand.
Frost placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. The man laid the woman’s hand at her side on the torn car seat and stood and turned to Frost and Grace. Frost nodded slightly. The man looked down at the floor. The earth was covered with plastic sheets, and on top of the plastic between the fire pit and the car seat was a small red rug with a pattern of flowers. The man shook his head slowly.
Frost said “We’ve brought something, Edmonds.”
Without looking up the man whispered “I know.”
The woman moaned. The man started to turn to her but Frost urged the man toward the door. He said “Take the girls for a walk. Take them down to the trail.” When the woman moaned again, more loudly, the man ducked through his door in a rattle of polyethylene and went out. Frost watched the man and his daughters walk through the wet grass, past the wagon. The girls were each holding a hand.
He turned to Grace. “Okay” he said.
Grace squatted beside the woman, who looked at her with eyes that were all but extinguished. Grace said “I’ve brought medicine.” She had a plastic bottle containing two inches of murky liquid. She shook the bottle with a swirling motion, watching for all the dark flakes in it to dissolve, but many of the flakes only settled again to the bottom of the bottle. She unscrewed the lid and lifted the woman’s head and trickled some of the liquid between the woman’s lips. The woman managed to swallow. Grace gave her some more, then laid her head back down and stood.
The woman was quiet. Frost and Grace watched her in the dimness and said nothing. After a few minutes the woman’s face grew soft. She unclenched her fists. She closed her eyes and breathed with a slow easy rhythm. But soon she opened her eyes again. There was no more life in them now than there had been. She looked at Grace and said something, a syllable, too low for Grace or Frost to hear. Grace bent closer, and the woman said it again, clearly.
“More.”
Grace stood there stooped, looking down at the woman, and seemed paralyzed. Then she started to tremble. She put a hand over her mouth.
Frost took the bottle from her. Grace stepped away and stood looking out through the door, weeping quietly.
Frost bent down and raised the woman’s head and did as Grace had done, trickling the liquid between the woman’s lips. He waited for her to swallow and then to open her lips again. In a few minutes the bottle was empty. He eased her head down and stroked her forehead until she stopped breathing.
He stood and with a choked curse flung the empty bottle away. But then he found it again and took the lid from Grace and screwed it on. They went out.
Frost tried not to trample the garden, but there was not much room to get the wagon turned around. He left two deep tracks in the soft soil. The man and his daughters were down the road a few hundred yards. When he came up beside them Frost said quietly “I’ll… I’ll send someone to….” Then he drove on.
4
Noor said “You’re tired. Let me deliver the spuds.”
“No. I want to see his farm. Maybe I can
get some pods.”
“He won’t let you have any pods.”
“I wasn’t planning to ask him. Let me read.”
Frost was reclining in a twine hammock that was hung on a framework in front of the fireplace. His knees were raised, and he had several feather pillows behind his back. He held his book at an angle so as to use the light of the fire to read. The peat burned reluctantly, and a contrary wind blew smoke back down the pieced-together and battered stovepipe. Frost’s folded glasses were hooked into the neck of his shirt. He resumed reading, saying “This is a great thing, Noor.”
“The lens or the book?” she asked.
“The lens. I’m not sure about von Clausewitz yet. War. Do I want to read about the principles of war?”
“I’m happy to see you usin’ it.”
“What – war?”
“No, the lens.”
When she did not laugh Frost lowered the book and looked at her. She sat at the foot of the hammock, on a mat of rabbit skins, sharpening a sword with a triangular file. She rested the tip of the sword on the floor near the fireplace and ran the file along its edge with long slow strokes.
Since Tomorrow Page 2