But when Sunshine looks back at Walker, her concern has deepened. A worried shadow wrinkles her brow. She widens her eyes and shrugs. Walker motions with his head toward Nathan. Sunshine points to herself, and mouths: Me? Walker nods vehemently. They both glance at Chastity for support; but Chastity, who has observed the entire pantomime with a detached amusement bordering on contempt, merely smiles sweetly, too sweetly, her eyes filled with disdain and reproach.
When Sunshine turns back to Walker, he nods at Nathan with even more force: Do it! So, with a sigh, she turns to her left and begins to speak…
But before she can say anything at all, Nathan volunteers: “We’re going into town.”
Walker can see that Sunshine feels ashamed, it’s all over her face. How could she have possibly thought to question Nathan? She shoots a look back at Walker, more wounded than accusing, and Walker is sorry that he put her in that position. But he had to know, and it made sense for Sunshine to be the one to ask, she’s sitting right next to him. And Sunshine won’t hold it against him, anyway. Chastity, on the other hand, meets his eyes briefly with an I-told-you-so look, then turns to the window with a huffy flip of her hair.
He can’t try to maneuver Sunshine into asking again, that wouldn’t be right. So he screws up his nerve and clears his throat. “Nathan?” he asks, hesitantly. “Do you really think that going into Sturdivant is such a good idea?”
He can feel Chastity’s eyes burning into him: How dare he question Nathan! What blatant sacrilege! Sunshine looks concerned, and a little nervous, as if she’s sitting too close to someone who’s about to be struck by lightning.
Although Walker shares some of Sunshine’s anxiety, the bottom line for him is that he knows that Nathan will not be upset. Although his spiritual authority is unquestioned – and, indeed, unquestionable – Nathan never discourages natural curiosity.
And, of course, Nathan never gets upset about anything.
“Do you think that going into Sturdivant is not such a good idea?” Nathan asks.
This is a common technique, one that Walker recognizes from a Psychology course he took last year at Penn State. Like a Rogerian therapist, Nathan often rewords questions and shoots them back at the questioner. Which is hardly surprising because, Walker knows, before Nathan got involved in Eastern mysticism, he had, indeed, been a Rogerian therapist.
“Many of the people in town don’t like us, Nathan.”
“Why don’t they like us, Walker?” As always, Nathan sounds curious but entirely unconcerned.
Walker knits his brow and strains to pick his words carefully. “Because we’re different than they are, I suppose. And because they don’t know us very well. I would guess that they’re afraid of us, Nathan.”
“Do they have reason to be afraid of us, Walker?”
“No, Nathan, of course not.” Where is this leading? Is it leading anywhere? Sometimes it’s hard to tell. “But the point is that we may have reason to be afraid of them.”
“Are you afraid of them, Walker?”
Walker examines his thoughts carefully. “I guess maybe I am, Nathan,” he says, nodding glumly. “But it’s not so much a fear for myself, I don’t think. I’m afraid for you and the girls.”
“Well, I’m certainly not afraid.” Chastity looks down her nose at Walker. “Nothing bad can happen to us while we’re with Nathan. We have no reason to fear.” She smiles brightly, and looks into the rear-view mirror, hoping to catch Nathan’s eye, eager for his approval.
Walker is silent. He tries not to be put off by Chastity’s snide smugness; there’s a nugget of truth in what she says. It isn’t so much that his fears are groundless; it’s entirely possible that some of the locals might pick a fight with them, especially at night. Especially if they’ve been drinking. Still, Walker remembers, Nathan teaches us that what happens, happens. Events are not “good” or “bad” in and of themselves. Labeling them is all part of the illusion.
Being with Nathan, Walker thinks, is the ultimate good – if that term can, indeed, be applied to anything at all. So he closes his eyes, clears his mind, concentrates on the mantra that Nathan has assigned to him, and begins to meditate – silently, but very, very, earnestly.
2.1.3: The Federal
Meanwhile, Billy Barton is well on his way to doing something that even he has never done before.
He’s about to get kicked out of the Federal Diner.
“Louise!” he yells, when he and his entourage have been seated in their booth for no more than ten seconds. “Louise! How about some fuckin’ coffee!”
Stevie Hutchinson had begun to relax as soon they had walked into the familiar atmosphere of the Federal, but now he’s suddenly jumpy again. He knows that nobody talks to Louise Palopolous like that. Not in her own diner, anyway.
“Billy Barton!” Louise is, indeed, indignant. “You’ll wait your turn just like everybody else,” she snaps from behind the register, where she sits reading a paperback book. Stevie can’t quite make out the title from where he’s sitting; the first word, in large, hot-pink letters, is FIRE, or maybe FIRST. “And you’ll keep a lid on your foul language,” Louise insists, “or you’ll take your business elsewhere.”
“Oh, shit, Louise,” Billy shoots back, “there ain’t even no one else in here.” Stevie looks around. the diner, which is, indeed, deserted. “Now get the fuckin’ lead outta your ass, and bring us some goddamn coffee.”
Stevie can see the color rise in Louise’s cheeks, it’s visible even through the thick layers of makeup plastered on her face. She dog-ears a corner of a page, closes her book, and strolls over to the booth, where she stands staring down at Billy, arms akimbo.
At this point, Stevie is more than a little concerned. He can handle being banned from the Blind Ox, a place that he visits only infrequently, at best. But banishment from the Federal… well, that would be something else altogether. He’s been hanging out at the Federal for as long as he can remember, sometimes stopping in four or five times a week for a cheap meal or a cup of coffee. Not being able to frequent the Federal would call for major changes in his lifestyle.
“Billy,” he whispers urgently, as Billy and Louise stare at each other with rising hostility. “Billy, this is the Federal,” he points out, significantly. Billy must be so far gone that he doesn’t know where he is, Stevie thinks. And he begins to wonder whether bringing Billy here, in this condition, might have been a mistake.
“You know what your problem is, Louise?” Ignoring Stevie’s pleas, Billy slouches back in the booth, eyeing Louise with a half-sneer.
“You boys better get him outta here.” Louise turns the evil eye on Stevie and Eddie, who immediately scramble to protest that it’s not their fault. “Well, you shouldna brought him in here in the first place,” Louise points out “Now go on, take him on home before he says something that all of you are gonna be sorry for.”
“Your problem,” Billy continues, calmly, “is that you’re in desperate need of a good, hard fuck. Make a new woman outta you.”
“Billy Barton!” Louise’s arms fall to her side. She seems to be trying to say more, but she succeeds only in sputtering.
“I’d do it myself,” Billy offers, helpfully, “if you wasn’t so fuckin’ ugly. You got anything we could pull over your face, Louise? Maybe a potato sack or something?”
“FRAAANK!” It’s more of a wail than a yell, the plaintive cry of a wounded animal. “Frank, get out here!”
“Oh geez, Louise, you don’t need to be doin’ that.” Stevie jumps to his feet and begins tugging on Billy’s arm. “We’ll get him outta here. Eddie, gimme a hand.”
But Eddie Sweeny, wide-eyed and giggling nervously, appears to be too stunned – or, perhaps, too impressed – by Billy’s audacity to move a muscle. And Billy, settling back into the cracked, fading, red-vinyl booth, shrugs Stevie off like an annoying fly.
The kitchen doors swing open violently as Frank Palopolous bursts into the dining area. He’s a slim man, of no better than
average height; but the rolled-up sleeves on his white T-shirt reveal sinewy muscles, and his weather-beaten face suggests that he’s not someone to be messed with.
As Frank strides through the swinging double doors, Stevie’s relieved to see that he’s wearing an expression more of concern than of anger. And when Frank sees that Louise isn’t in imminent physical danger, he slows down and walks calmly to the booth at a normal pace, leading Stevie to believe that perhaps he might be able to defuse the situation after all.
“Listen, Frank,” Stevie starts to say, “we don’t…”
But Frank shoots Stevie a look that tells him to shut up, which Stevie does.
“What is it, my pet?” Frank inquires solicitously in a raspy voice. He wears a paper cook’s hat and a white apron. A cigarette dangles perilously from a corner of his mouth, its glowing tip jaggedly marking red streaks in the air as he speaks. “These boys giving you a hard time?”
“Frank,” Louise says, calmer now that her protector has arrived, “Frank, these boys are saying foul things to me. I can’t even repeat them to you. I can’t even bring myself to say the things that they called me. I just want ‘em outta here.”
“You heard the lady,” Frank says, quietly, sounding for all the world like a cowboy defending the honor of a beautiful barmaid. “Get out.”
“Frank, we don’t want any trouble,” Stevie says, pulling anxiously on Billy’s arm again. But Billy seems to have become immobile. “We was just leaving, weren’t we Eddie?”
“You’re smart boys,” Frank observes, nodding slowly. “But it don’t look to me like your fat friend is so smart. He don’t look like he’s going nowhere to me.” He taps his foot impatiently.
“He is, Frank, really he is,” Stevie assures him. “Billy,” he whispers hoarsely. “C’mon, Billy, we gotta get outta here.”
But Billy seems to be half asleep, and not at all inclined to move. “Fuck you, asswipe,” he informs Frank, as he surveys the proceedings through half-closed eyelids. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere till this cunt brings me some fuckin’ coffee.”
With surprising speed, Frank grabs Billy by the back of his head and slams his face into the table. Stevie clearly hears Billy’s nose break with a sickening crunch. Blood spurts from Billy’s nostrils, staining the green Formica tabletop with thick, red blobs.
Frank glances over at Stevie, but Stevie’s already backing off, hands up. No trouble here. So Frank grabs the back of Billy’s collar, yanks him out of the booth, and throws him roughly onto the white tile floor.
“It’s okay, Frank, we’re leaving,” Stevie nearly screams in Frank’s ear as he rushes past him and kneels by Billy, who lies sprawled face-down on the floor. “C’mon, Billy, we gotta get you outta here.” He shakes Billy’s shoulder. Billy struggles to his knees and turns his head to look at Stevie with blank, uncomprehending eyes. Then, unceremoniously, he barfs all over the clean, white tiles.
“Oh, Frank,” Louise says, disgusted.
“You got five seconds,” Frank informs Stevie, who has leaped away from Billy. “You get this sorry son-of-a-bitch outta my diner in five seconds, or I’m gonna flat-ass kill him.” And Stevie doesn’t doubt Frank’s word for even one of those seconds. Every tendon in Frank’s face is tensed, and a vein at the base of his neck bulges ominously.
“Eddie,” Stevie yells, “get off your ass and help me!”
“Five,” says Frank.”
“C’mon, Eddie, MOVE IT!”
“Four.”
Grasping at Eddie on one side and at Stevie on the other, Billy makes motions as though he might be attempting to stand. But his legs don’t seem to be fully cooperating.
“Three.”
Billy is actually making some progress in his attempt to stand up, but they’re running out of time, so Stevie and Eddie begin to drag him to the door. He has an arm around each of their shoulders, his feet flap as he tries to gain traction, but his weight is dragging them down so much that his kneecaps are bumping along the floor.
“Two.”
The glass door pushes slowly open as Stevie leans his free shoulder into it. And with a final, desperate yank, he and Eddie manage to pull Billy through the doorway. Their momentum carries them to the top of the short flight of stairs that leads down to the parking lot. They teeter there on the edge for a few seconds…
֍ ֍ ֍ ֍ ֍ ֍ ֍ ֍ ֍ ֍
“One,” says Frank, mostly to himself.
And although he and Louise can’t see what’s going on out in the night in front of their diner, they share a smile as they listen to the sound of three bodies bumping heavily down the stairs.
And Louise even gives Frank a quick peck on the cheek when Billy screams in bloody agony as he tries, unsuccessfully, to break his fall with his injured hand, and lands, instead, squarely on his broken nose.
2.1.4: Sturdivant
Walker is not at all accustomed to feeling uneasy when he’s with Nathan. But now, an undeniable sense of foreboding gnaws at him as they stroll down the dark street.
He had been feeling pretty relaxed by the time they pulled into town. He still had reservations about venturing into Sturdivant, especially at night. But meditating had calmed his mind to the point where he had been, at least, comfortable with his anxieties. And then, with typical lack of explanation, Nathan had parked the car in the middle of a dark and deserted side street. His eyes had met Walker’s in the rear-view mirror as he shut off the engine, and Walker was sure that they had sparkled significantly at him.
The girls had jumped out of the car, laughing and talking excitedly, caught up in the heady exhilaration of sharing yet another adventure with Nathan. Sometimes, Walker had thought, as he reluctantly squeezed his huge frame out of the back seat, they seemed so incredibly mindless, as if they hadn’t a care in the world. Sometimes, he wished that he could be like them, that he could turn off his worries as easily as he could flip a light switch.
He takes a deep breath and forces his jumbled thoughts to subside. Perhaps this is all for my benefit, he thinks. Maybe Nathan parked out here in the middle of nowhere specifically to force me to come to grips with my fears, to make me meet them head-on, to see how groundless they really are.
But maybe that’s being too self-centered. Maybe Nathan simply wants a bite to eat, and where he parked his car was simply where he parked his car. Maybe that’s the lesson Nathan is teaching me: not to be so egocentric, not to assume that events are being staged for my benefit. After all, I’m not the center of the universe. Life goes on within me – and without me.
Walker sighs. It’s all so confusing sometimes. All too often, his thoughts lead nowhere – or, worse, they lead to other thoughts, and soon he’s thinking about his thoughts, like a dog chasing its tail in circles that grow progressively smaller and tighter. Sometimes he feels like his head will explode from the heat generated by all the useless mental activity. The meditation techniques that Nathan teaches him usually bring him back before his own mind savagely consumes itself. But occasionally, in times of severe stress – like now – even meditation doesn’t help. He’s so jittery that he’s unable to concentrate enough to initiate the mental exercises.
Just when I need them most, he thinks bitterly, they desert me.
Oh well, he thinks, taking another deep breath, there’s nothing I can do about it now. Maybe I’ll be able to sort it all out later.
And so Walker is maintaining a steady pace a few steps behind Nathan and the girls – who are laughing and giggling, practically skipping down the street – when suddenly, Nathan veers off to his left, steering the girls with him, and disappears.
Walker’s heart begins to pound. Breaking into a trot, he rounds a hidden corner into an alley that had been concealed by the darkness from even a few yards away. He half expects that, when he turns the corner, Nathan and the girls will be gone and he’ll be alone, lost in the dark. It looks like you took a wrong turn, Rod Serling will say. You’re a long way from Sturdivant, Walker. Welcome to the Twilight Zone
.
But there they are, just a few steps ahead, seemingly oblivious to the fact that they’re walking down a pitch-black alley in hostile territory.
“Nathan?” Walker slows to a brisk walk as he still hurries to catch up. “Nathan? Where are we going?” He tries to sound unconcerned, merely curious. He won’t fool Nathan, of course, but maybe he can prevent the girls from realizing how anxious he’s become.
But he’s unable to keep the rising fear from his voice, and the girls aren’t fooled. Chastity glares at him; once again, he has dared to question the unquestionable. Sunshine, bless her, comes back and grabs hold of his arm, strokes it, soothing and comforting, her deep concern showing in her eyes. “It’s okay, Walker,” she says, gently. “Don’t worry.”
“We’re going to the Federal Diner, Walker,” Nathan finally answers, serenely. His eyes sparkle, even in the dark. “This is a shortcut.”
He knows how afraid I am, Walker thinks. He brought me down this alley specifically to force me to confront my fears.
No, that’s ridiculous, another part of his mind counters. We’re just going to get a bite to eat, and this is the quickest way there. Stop thinking of everything in terms of yourself.
But he can’t shake the pervasive feeling of dread that becomes more and more pronounced as they dawdle down the seemingly endless alley. His pulse pounds furiously, reverberating in his head, shaking his enormous body, echoing off the narrow walls like sonar pings.
Something bad is going to happen, Walker thinks, with grim certainty.
Something very, very bad.
2.1.5: Sturdivant
The incredible, shooting pain clears the cobwebs from Billy Barton’s brain with breathtaking speed.
Billy has been getting used to the dull ache in his hand, it’s no worse than the usual level of pain he’s become accustomed to tolerating after countless bar fights. But the searing agony in the middle of his face is something new. He rolls on the ground, screaming and cursing, while Stevie Hutchinson and Eddie Sweeney dust themselves off and consider whether they want to risk getting close enough to Billy to try to help him.
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