by The Road
You’re kind of weirded out, arent you?
No.
Just a little.
Yeah.
That’s okay.
So are you?
What, carrying the fire?
Yes.
Yeah. We are.
Do you have any kids?
We do.
Do you have a little boy?
We have a little boy and we have a little girl. How old is he?
He’s about your age. Maybe a little older. And you didnt eat them.
No.
You dont eat people.
No. We dont eat people.
And I can go with you?
Yes. You can.
Okay then.
Okay.
They went into the woods and the man squatted and looked at the gray and wasted figure under the tilted sheet of plywood. Are these all the blankets you have?
Yes.
Is that your suitcase?
Yes.
He stood. He looked at the boy. Why dont you go back out to the road and wait for me. I’ll bring the blankets and everything.
What about my papa?
What about him.
We cant just leave him here.
Yes we can.
I dont want people to see him.
There’s no one to see him.
Can I cover him with leaves?
The wind will blow them away.
Could we cover him with one of the blankets?
I’ll do it. Go on now.
Okay.
He waited in the road and when the man came out of the woods he was carrying the suitcase and he had the blankets over his shoulder. He sorted through them and handed one to the boy. Here, he said. Wrap this around you. You’re cold. The boy tried to hand him the pistol but he wouldnt take it. You hold onto that, he said.
Okay.
Do you know how to shoot it?
Yes.
Okay.
What about my papa?
There’s nothing else to be done.
I think I want to say goodbye to him.
Will you be all right?
Yes.
Go ahead. I’ll wait for you.
He walked back into the woods and knelt beside his father. He was wrapped in a blanket as the man had promised and the boy didnt uncover him but he sat beside him and he was crying and he couldnt stop. He cried for a long time. I’ll talk to you every day, he whispered. And I wont forget. No matter what. Then he rose and turned and walked back out to the road.
The woman when she saw him put her arms around him and held him. Oh, she said, I am so glad to see you. She would talk to him sometimes about God. He tried to talk to God but the best thing was to talk to his father and he did talk to him and he didnt forget. The woman said that was all right. She said that the breath of God was his breath yet though it pass from man to man through all of time.
Once there were brook trout in the streams in the mountains. You could see them standing in the amber current where the white edges of their fins wimpled softly in the flow. They smelled of moss in your hand. Polished and muscular and torsional. On their backs were vermiculate patterns that were maps of the world in its becoming. Maps and mazes. Of a thing which could not be put back. Not be made right again. In the deep glens where they lived all things were older than man and they hummed of mystery.
ALSO BY CORMAC MCCARTHY
No Country for Old Men
Cities of the Plain
The Crossing
All the Pretty Horses
The Stonemason (a play)
The Gardener’s Son (a screenplay)
Blood Meridian
Suttree
Child of God
Outer Dark
The Orchard Keeper
THIS IS A BORZOI BOOK
PUBLISHED BY ALFRED A. KNOPF
Copyright © 2006 by M-71, Ltd.
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and in Canada by Random House of Canada, Limited, Toronto.
www.aaknopf.com
Knopf, Borzoi Books, and the colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
McCarthy, Cormac, [date]
The road / by Cormac McCarthy.—1st ed.
p. cm.
1. Fathers and sons—Fiction. 2. Voyages and travels—United States—Fiction. 3. Regression (Civilization)—Fiction. 4. Survival skills—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3563.C337R63 2006
813'.54—dc22
2006023629
eISBN: 978-0-307-26745-0
v3.0_r1