Footprints of Thunder

by James F. David

  The teakettle called to her from the kitchen. Then with her cup and saucer she returned to the window. The Ibarras had moved on to making up, and there were no voices now. A few minutes later the rap music suddenly died, and Mariel listened to Cathy McGregor scolding her son and telling him to do his homework. Then Mariel was left alone with the sounds of the city.

  She looked down into the courtyard below. It used to be filled with little garden plots, some with flowers, some with vegetables. It was mostly paved now, and ugly garbage Dumpsters sat here and there. The only garden left was Mariel’s. She only grew flowers now. She used to grow vegetables till people began stealing them. She wouldn’t have minded if they ate them, but most of them were smashed against walls or thrown through windows. Still, the flowers were pretty and a stark contrast to the ugliness of the asphalt and Dumpsters. Mariel loved the garden, but it was harder to grow things ever since the high rise went up across the courtyard. It was an office building, all glass and steel. Mariel hated its sealed glass windows.

  Once long ago, Mariel had a friend who lived in the building that used to be where the office building now stood. Sometimes when the kids were at school, Marie! would meet Gertie for coffee and talk. In the summers their kids played in the courtyard together, and Mariel and Gertie would visit or garden. Gertie moved to Florida years ago and was long dead now, and the building she lived in was ten years gone.

  Mariel’s life in the apartment had started out quietly, just her and Phillip. Then the children had come, filling their lives with activity and stress; stress she missed now. When the three children were growing up Mariel had lots of friends, most of them the parents of their children’s friends. Phillip’s work gave them friends too. There was business entertaining and dinner parties. If they weren’t guests, they were hosts. They were involved in their children’s schools too. School plays, music lessons, and a myriad of other activities kept them constantly on the go. Mariel had scarcely a minute to herself in those days and relished the few hours a week she could sit by the window and listen to the sounds. Then the children had grown. Now they all lived in other states and called infrequently. She had Phillip for a few years after the children were gone, and many friends still, mostly connected with Phillip’s work. Then Phillip died suddenly, and with him went the parties and many of her friends. Soon all Mariel had were acquaintances, no friends. Now she only went out three times a week, and then only to do shopping. She used to go to church on Sunday, but then the church had closed and moved to a new location in a better neighborhood. Now Mariel watched church on TV, but it was hard to make church friends through a TV. Her life was quiet now, like the end of the arguments she listened to over the years. Mariel longed for the activity again, for someone to argue with.

  Mariel looked up at the sky for stars. But the bright moon and city lights meant she couldn’t see any. The city wasn’t the place to look at stars, Mariel knew. She never had a good view, of course, but when she had something to do, something to occupy her time, she never thought about stars.

  Now Mariel thought about the stars and the moon, and other things, a lot. Her oldest son wanted her to move to Ohio with him. She could see the stars there, he assured her. But she didn’t want that. She didn’t want a piece of his life. She wanted her own life, even if it was mostly memories now. No, she would live in the apartment until she became a memory too.

  Mariel turned on the TV and flipped through the channels with the remote control. As usual there was nothing on she wanted to watch. Sometimes she thought of getting cable TV. The television guide told her she could get shows like “Father Knows Best” and “Mr. Ed” on cable. It was expensive, though, and she hated paying for what she should be getting for free. She finally settled the dial on a situation comedy. The laugh track told her the jokes were supposed to be funny, but they weren’t. They were bathroom jokes for the most part, and Mariel had never liked that kind of humor and she didn’t appreciate the filthy language in her home. She turned the channel to a TV movie. A young couple were kissing open-mouthed. The woman was naked from the waist up, and Mariel could see the side of her left breast pressed up against the man’s bare chest. Mariel had been shocked the first time she had seen this on TV, but now it was routine and boring. She supposed the networks would soon have to show all of the actress’s breast to keep people interested, and she only hoped she wouldn’t live long enough to have that on her TV screen. She clucked her tongue at the half-naked couple, then turned the channel just as the couple fell onto a bed. She tried the rest of the channels but it was more of the same.

  Mariel turned off the TV and turned on the radio. There was lots of filth on the radio now too, but you could still find something worth listening to if you searched. They ran old radio shows sometimes, and there was big band music if she wanted that. Tonight, though, she wanted to listen to talk, and there was lots of talk on the New York City airwaves. Mariel tuned in one of her favorites. She wasn’t loyal to any of the shows. If they talked of sex or politics, or if they ran down religion, she would tune them out. Mariel had long ago settled her opinions on all those topics.

  Tonight people were calling in with movie trivia questions or just to talk about favorite scenes from films. Mariel settled in to listen. For a while they talked about last lines in movies. Mariel knew the last line in The Wizard of Oz right away, it was “Oh, Auntie Em, there’s no place like home.” She also knew the last line from Gone With the Wind, but it took three callers to get “tomorrow is another day.” Everyone kept guessing “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.” Mariel was enjoying the movie memories, trying to remember where and with whom she had seen the movie. Then someone changed the topic to actors who played James Bond. Mariel had seen some of the James Bond movies with Phillip but never liked them. They were too violent, and Mr. Bond was certainly oversexed. Still, she remembered both Sean Connery and Roger Moore had played James Bond. Someone called in to say that David Niven had played James Bond too, in a movie called Casino Royal. She’d never seen it but couldn’t imagine David Niven as James Bond. David Niven was a gentleman, he wouldn’t behave like that secret agent. She would have searched for another station, but she was waiting to hear who the fourth actor was who played James Bond. She was still rocking, crocheting, and listening by her open window when she drifted off to sleep.

  Mariel woke when her head hit the floor, but she kept her eyes tightly shut till the pain and shock subsided. Opening her eyes to total darkness, Mariel found herself and her chair tipped over onto the floor, and the only light was moonlight from the window. The power was out again. Mariel still hurt from the fall— and because she was old, she admitted it to herself, she knew there was real danger of breaking bones from even a small fall.

  She lay still, waiting for the pain to seep away so she could feel her bones, but now she began to think she was deaf. There were no city sounds as there should be outside her window. Mariel felt her legs and arms. She would be sore for a month but nothing was broken. She felt around on the floor for her glasses, found them in one piece, and put them on. Then she got slowly to her feet.

  She needed candles and they were in the hall linen closet. Mariel started forward, confident of her footing even in the dark, but she took only two steps before she kicked something on the floor. She bent down and picked up the blue vase from her end table. Whatever had knocked Mariel over had knocked off her vase, Mariel proceeded cautiously after that and found the floor littered with lamps, pillows, and knickknacks. The contents of her apartment had been tossed around, as if by a hurricane. Slowly she walked down the hall to the closet, carefully testing the floor before she placed each foot.

  The candles were where they should be and she found a holder with them. Unfortunately the matches were in the kitchen.

  The candlelight lit up the room like a search light. It was a mess. Dishes and canned goods had fallen from the cupboards, littering the floor and counters. Mariel lit another candle, securing it with dripped wax on a plat
e. In the living room she set up two more candles and then used the one in the holder to look for her portable radio in her bedroom.

  There she found broken glass all over her bedspread and on the floor. The window frame was empty. Mariel shook her head in disbelief. What could have happened? She clucked her tongue at the work it would take to make her apartment neat again and then found her radio along with her flashlight, which she decided to save in case she had to go outside.

  Mariel tried the radio. Most of the local stations were off. Those still broadcasting weren’t talking about the power loss yet. Back in the kitchen she tried the phone. It was out too. That concerned Mariel a little. Usually the phones still worked when the power went out. But she picked her rocker up and sat down by her window, listening to her portable radio.

  When she turned to look outside she got the shock of her life. The office building that had replaced Gertie’s apartment building was gone, and so were the buildings behind that. As far as Mariel could see in the moonlight there was nothing but grass.

  Mariel stood at her window like thousands of other New Yorkers, trying to understand what she was seeing. She had fallen out of her chair, she was sure of that. She didn’t remember hitting her head, but maybe she did. She felt her face and skull but found no lumps or blood. But if she wasn’t delirious what had happened to the building? To the city? Mariel was thinking of walking across the hall to ask Mr. Moreno if there was city on his side of the building when there were loud footsteps outside her door followed by a pounding. Mariel took her candle and walked to the door and peered through the peephole. It was too dark to see, so Mariel shouted, asking who was there. Luis Ibarra responded, and Mariel opened the door to see him wearing only a pair of jeans.

  “Are you all right, Mrs. Weatherby?”

  “Yes, Luis. Thanks for asking. Luis, as long as you’re here, would you mind looking out my window? I can’t seem to see the city anymore.”

  “Yes, I know, Mrs. Weatherby. You’re not crazy. We can’t see it either. I checked out the other side of the building. It’s still there. Man, this is some kind of weird. We’re thinking of getting the kids out. If we go I’ll come for you.”

  “No thank you, Luis. I’ll be fine.”

  “It’s too weird to stay, Mrs. Weatherby.”

  “I’m staying. By the way, I couldn’t help but overhear the argument you and Melinda were having. 1 do hope you settled it. You’re such a good couple. I told my daughter she should be so lucky to be as happy as you and Melinda.”

  “Oh yeah, it’s all forgotten. You’ve got to come with us, Mrs. Weatherby.”

  “Get back to your family, Luis. No, wait a minute.”

  Mrs. Weatherby used her candle to get back to the kitchen and emptied her cookie jar into a paper sack. Then she took them back to Luis.

  “Give these to your children. If they’re scared it will calm them down.”

  Luis took the bag without protest. “I’ll come back for you if we leave.”

  “I won’t leave my home. Good night, Luis.”

  Mrs. Weatherby returned to her window and sat looking out into the new meadow. She found she wasn’t afraid. Mariel had once heard a talk show guest say people are afraid of only two things: death and the unknown. Mariel disagreed. People her age were not afraid of death, they had seen too much of it and lived with it too long. As for the unknown, Mariel relished it. Her life had been one of unrelenting sameness for nearly a decade.

  She could hear the sounds of the city from the other side of the building, but the meadow made no sounds. It looked to be an endless sea of grass. No, not just grass. Mariel cursed her old eyes and the darkness” and strained to see better. She removed her glasses and cleaned them but to no avail. Something was sparkling in the grass in the distance. It was water. The meadow ended in a swamp. Mariel wished she hadn’t given Phillip’s binoculars to Phil junior. There was much to see in this meadow, and even more just out of her visual reach.

  Mariel turned on the radio. None of her favorite stations were on, but she found a station carrying the Gene Diamond show. He was obnoxious and profane, and Mariel seldom listened to his Night Talk show, but they interrupted it often with news and that’s what she wanted to hear. Gene was talking to someone named Roland from Salt Lake City, Utah.

  “Gene, we’re never gonna get the truth about cold fusion, because they’ll never let the truth out. They’ve got too much to lose.”

  “Who’s ‘they,’ Roland?”

  “The power companies, of course. You think the nuclear companies and big oil, not to mention coal, are going to let the working man get access to cheap power? Uh-uh. Won’t happen. That’s why the government’s, trying so hard to ruin the reps of the inventors.”

  “So the government, the power companies, the oil companies, and whoever owns the coal reserves in this country all got together and conspired to discredit the inventors of cold fusion?”

  “Right.”

  “So why is it no one seems to be able to replicate the cold fusion experiments, Roland?”

  “The government bought off all the scientists.”

  “Even the scientists in the former Soviet Union?”

  “They need the money worst of all.”

  “Makes sense. Makes sense if you’re a paranoid idiot. Let’s get another caller in here.”

  Most nights, Mariel had heard Gene Diamond make rude comments like that. It was a wonder, she thought, anyone would ever call in to his dreadful show. Still they did. Often the same people who had been rudely treated called in over and over. Now Mariel clucked her tongue in disbelief and then turned down the radio. She only wanted news tonight, not chatter. She wasn’t feeling lonely, not with a whole new world to explore.

  Mariel sat by the window through the night studying the meadow, straining to hear the night sounds it might make. Only once did she hear something that seemed to come from the meadow. It was a low rumbling sound, something Mariel had never heard before.

  The sky brightened as the sun neared the horizon, and more of the meadow was visible. The swamp could he clearly seen now and even more distant was a treeline. Mariel reveled in each new discovery. When the sun appeared over the distant trees, Mariel attached a pair of snap-on dark lenses to her eyeglasses and sat in excited expectation waiting for the unexpected.

  The sound of voices came from below her. She leaned out the window to see a group of teenagers walking out into the meadow. She could tell by their jackets they were gang members. She had seen them often enough, standing on the streets, harassing the passersby. Mariel and her neighbors had little use for them, but they were the sons and daughters of the neighborhood and you had to take the good with the bad.

  The gang members all looked to be boys, but Mariel wasn’t good at guessing sex these days. They walked out into the meadow, looking at the grass and talking and laughing. Mariel was surprised by how tall the grass was. It came nearly to the waist of even the tallest boy. She realized she detested having the boys in her meadow—not the boys, only their presence. They weren’t part of this new world, and Mariel didn’t want it to turn back into what it had been. First would come the teens, then their parents. More and more people would come to the meadow. Then they would divide it up, put in roads, and put in buildings. Soon Mariel would be looking at an unfriendly glass wall again. No, these boys had to go. Mariel was about to yell at them, to tell them to get out of her meadow, when the boys shouted and pointed into the distance.

  Mariel tried to spot what had the hoys so excited. There was something there, coming closer. The boys below turned and ran from the meadow. Mariel clapped her hands in delight. Hooray for whatever had scared the boys from her meadow! Wishing again for Phillip’s binoculars, she watched it coming closer. Finally her eyes managed to focus on it, and Mariel knew then the view from her window would never be boring again.

  10. The Group

  Who can fathom the minds of the gods? There will come a time when the words past, present, and future wil
l have no meaning.

  —Zorostrus, Prophet of Babylon

  East Lake, Oregon

  Time Quilt: Saturday, 7:35 P.M. PST

  Phat! It’s getting late, give it up,” Dr. Piltcher yelled.

  “Soon, Doctor, soon!”

  Phat was high in one of the pine trees surrounding their campsite trying to move the antenna for the shortwave radio higher into the tree. They could pick up Petra and Colter at Summer Lake, but not Mrs. Wayne and Ernie Powell at Warm Springs. To help them with the antenna, Phat had stayed longer than he should have, and family was waiting for him in Eugene.

  “Come on down, Phat,” Dr. Coombs urged him. “I’ll get up there and rig it.”

  “You too big,” came Phat’s reply. Phat was too gracious to add he thought Dr. Coombs also too old. “Got it.”

  Phat climbed down carefully, placing each foot solidly on a limb. He wasn’t going to risk a fall that might keep him from his family, not at this crucial time.

  “Thank you, Phat. Now go! Give my regards to your family.”

  “I will, Dr. Piltcher. Dr. Coombs?” Phat said, holding out his hand, then shook hands with both men. “See you afterward.”

  “Remember what to do?” Dr. Piltcher asked unnecessarily, to reassure himself. ‘“Yes, Doctor.”

  After Phat drove away, Dr. Piltcher worried about him. The group had dispersed to await the arrival of the window, all except Phat, who had stayed to help Dr. Piltcher and Dr. Coombs. The window was three days long, but they had never been able to pinpoint events. If something significant came earlier rather than later in the window, Phat was at risk. Dr. Piltcher hoped Phat made it to his family before anything happened.