The Sudden Star

by Pamela Sargent

  He was beginning to feel hungry now that he was feeling less sick. He hoped the guards would pass out food before long. "We should have run for it when we could have," Aisha said softly.

  "Ildy said it would be—"

  "Well, she's wrong."

  "Look," Juan said, "when we get to the farm, we can figure out what to do." He looked around for Ildico. The blond girl was standing near the bushes that bordered the clearing. She stood very still, her head turning slowly as she surveyed the forested land. She leaned forward, as if hearing something, then turned around and came back to them. She sat down.

  Then he noticed the silence. Except for the murmur of the guards as they talked, there was no sound except for an occasional twittering or a brief summer breeze rustling the leaves. The silence pressed against his ears.

  "Strange, isn't it?" He jerked up, startled. "I mean, the quiet," Ildico said. He nodded and wrapped his arms around his legs, resting his head on his knees. It was cool out here in the country, cooler than the city; he wondered why.

  Ildico crawled over to Aisha and put an arm around her shoulder. "It'll be all right," Ildy said. "Take my word." Aisha said nothing.

  There they sat, Aisha's dark head on Ildico's shoulder. Their faces were shadowed. Aisha's red scarf, long and tasseled, fluttered against her white shirt and tan slacks, then settled on Ildy's pink blouse. They looked so pretty that Juan wanted to sit there forever watching them. He smiled, thinking about how much he loved them. They would all be together; the farm couldn't be that bad as long as they were with him. If the two girls would only smile, the picture would be perfect.

  But Aisha only stared, and Ildico did not smile.

  Juan lay wrapped in a blanket under the truck. He had a hard-on and he couldn't sleep; the ground was too hard. He recalled being able to sleep in alleys; now he knew he was getting soft. The silence thundered in his ears.

  He reached for Ildico, touching her shoulder, then pushed his body against her. She didn't move; she was dead to the world. He sighed and turned toward Aisha's blanket.

  The blanket was there. Aisha was gone. Startled, he propped himself up on an elbow; he hadn't even heard her move. He rolled out from under the truck slowly. Still hugging the ground, he looked around the clearing.

  Two guards had been posted. They circled the area slowly, looking out over the highway and then around at the woods. One of them motioned silently to the other. They stood together near the end of the dirt road.

  Then he saw Aisha. She was standing against a truck, almost invisible in the dark; she had covered her white shirt with a dark jacket. She looked over at the guards, then suddenly took off in the opposite direction, heading toward the woods.

  He scurried after her, trying not to think of how threatening the dark trees appeared, or of what the guards might do if he was seen. Aisha slowed as she reached the woods and moved slowly among the trees. Juan, seeing the leaves and twigs before him, hoped he could step through them silently, without alerting the guards. The darkness was thick; he could barely see. A tree loomed over him; startled, he stepped back.

  He huddled in the blackness under the tree, wishing he was back in his blanket under the truck. This was too much to suffer, even for a friend. He turned his head and saw her, standing nearby, a dark shape lit by moonlight. He moved toward her. She turned and saw him.

  He went to her, almost stumbling as his foot hit a rock. His big toe hurt. He seized her arm, pinching the skin. "What're you doing?" he whispered, digging his fingers into her muscles.

  She shook him off, then leaned toward him. "How do you know," she said, so softly he could hardly hear her, "that they aren't waiting until we're all asleep to kill us?"

  For a moment, she seemed reasonable. He shook his head. "Why should they?"

  "It's a good spot for it. Ernie's close to Ortega."

  Juan shook his head again. "Nah," he whispered. "Too many guards the old man trusts are here." He grabbed her sleeve and pulled her back into the shadows. "You got to stop it," he went on. "We better go back before they know we're gone."

  "They won't check. What if we wait here until morning? If nothing happens, we can go back."

  "We'll get in trouble." He was terrified now. He heard leaves rustle and crackle and thought of wild beasts. You're safe in a crowd, he thought frantically. It's when you're alone you're in trouble. He heard a twig snap; then he froze. Only ten feet away, someone, or something, was standing, outlined by the moonlight.

  Juan shrank against the tree. His legs wouldn't move. He wanted to scream. The figure moved closer to them. Maybe it couldn't see them in the darkness. The dark figure raised its right arm, pointing it at them, and Juan realized they were finished.

  "Come out of there," a soft voice said. "Be very slow and very careful about how you move."

  It was a man, and he had a gun.

  He motioned them through the woods and down a small hill until they reached a brook banked by slabs of stone. He told them to sit on a stone and they did, careful not to move too quickly.

  He was a slender man. In the moonlight, Juan could see a lean face covered with a short dark beard. The stranger threw a piece of rope to Aisha. "Tie the boy up." She tied his hands, then his feet. She was doing her best, he knew, to make him comfortable; the rope was not too tight. He sat there, hands between his legs, wrists tied to ankles, and was not grateful. If it hadn't been for her, he thought angrily, I wouldn't be here.

  The man checked the rope, took Juan's knife from his belt, then tied Aisha's hands behind her back. "Now I need some answers very fast," the man said softly. "How many people are up there and what are they doing?"

  "There's an old man, a girl, twelve guards, rifles, machine guns," Juan answered as quickly as possible. "And the guards check all the time. They could be coming here right now." He was sure the man wouldn't believe the lie even as he spoke. The guards were probably sitting on the dirt road sharing a butt. If I get out of this, he thought, I'll never help anyone again.

  "I know you," Aisha said to the man. Juan's heart sank. "You didn't have a beard then." Juan prayed that Aisha would shut up. "You're the doctor. I was there when they took you away. I thought you were in prison."

  "Why don't you just shoot us and get it over with?" Juan whispered despairingly, hoping the stories he'd heard about heaven were true. But if they were, he thought sadly, he wouldn't go there anyway. And the man wouldn't shoot; it was too noisy. He'd cut their throats and leave them for the animals. Juan huddled on the rock, hoping at least that the man killed Aisha first so he could watch her bleed; it was all her fault.

  "I escaped," the man was saying. "They were supposed to hang me, but they never do that until they work you to death on Thruway repair first."

  "How'd you get away?" Aisha, Juan thought, was brave or crazy. He felt calmer. If she could keep him talking, they might have a chance; the guards might notice their empty blankets.

  "Ten of us made the break. We had outside help. We were supposed to meet near here and pick up new clothes and papers. Only two of us made it. I wound up with five sets of papers, these clothes, and a gun."

  "What kind of papers?"

  "Migrant worker. You're mighty inquisitive." The man peered at Aisha's face. "You're the girl who was with René, aren't you. Who's up there, one of René's gangs?"

  "René's up there," Aisha said.

  The man stepped back. "Is he, now? He could have saved me, he had enough pull." He put his gun in his belt. "I don't have time to stand here talking." His hand was on his knife hilt.

  "Wait," Aisha said. "Take me with you."

  "You're crazy. Why should I?"

  "You've got extra papers. And if you have a kid with you, it'll throw them off. It'll help you."

  "Didn't the old man treat you right?"

  "I was trying to get away," she replied. "I just didn't have a chance before. Please, I can help you."

  The man looked around nervously. The woods were quiet. "I don't have time to arg
ue," he said at last. He untied Aisha. She got up, rubbing her wrists. "Do one wrong thing, and it's a bullet for you, just remember that." He reached again for his knife. "I'll handle the boy."

  "No," she whispered fiercely, standing in front of Juan. "René likes him. You kill him and the old man'll be after you too. He won't talk, he's my friend. I'll make him swear it, he won't dare."

  Juan looked up at the man. Aisha was right. The guy was probably scared enough without taking another risk. She leaned over him. "Swear you won't tell what happened," she said, "or Mura's Star'll strike you dead."

  He groaned. It was a powerful oath; it would bind him forever. "I swear," he rasped.

  "By the star."

  "I swear by the star I won't tell."

  "For God's sake," the man said. "Let's go." He pulled out his revolver. Juan filled his lungs, ready to scream; the man would kill him anyway.

  "You can't be too careful," the man said as he brought the revolver down on the back of Juan's head.

  Juan opened his eyes. It was dark; he didn't know where he was. He tried to move, and realized his hands were bound to his feet. His head throbbed painfully and his right arm, pressed against hard rock, felt bruised. He groaned.

  Aisha, he thought. She had run away and made him swear by the star. He remembered now; an escaped convict had tied him up.

  "Help," he called out weakly. His voice startled him. "Help." It sounded hollow in the silence. He was suddenly frightened of his helplessness; if they left him here, he would die. He screamed. "Help! It's Juan, help me! Help!" He filled his lungs and let out a long wordless scream.

  Someone was thrashing about in the leaves. Boots appeared near his face; it was Ernie. The guard leaned over, cut his bonds with a knife, and helped him up.

  "You little bastard," Ernie said. Juan wobbled on his feet, which felt as if they were full of sand. He stomped on one and groaned in pain.

  "Been looking for you since that girl saw you were gone. Look at all the trouble you caused, you little prick." Ernie hit him on the side of the face. Juan fell, scraping his knees against the rock. Liquid filled his mouth; he retched, holding his stomach.

  Ernie pulled him up and dragged him up the hill, pulling his arm cruelly. Juan staggered after him, moaning. Another guard met them and they continued to the clearing.

  Ernie wrenched him toward a truck. Ildico was pacing wildly, clenching her hands. She stared blankly at Juan as he passed her. Ernie shoved him into the back of the truck.

  René lay on a mattress, half of his dark face lighted by a lantern. Juan tried to sort out his thoughts. His head ached. Ernie climbed in, pushing Juan closer to the old man. Juan crawled toward the lantern and sat. Ernie squatted near him.

  "What happened?" René said. "Why were you in the woods?"

  "It was Aisha," Juan replied, trying to decide what to say. "See, she went into the woods, and I didn't want to get her in trouble, so I figured I'd follow her and find out where she was going." He thought of his oath, and cringed, then remembered that it only applied to talk about the doctor. He looked at the old man appealingly, batting his eyes.

  "What happened then?"

  "I don't know. She must've seen me coming and hit me over the head. That's all I remember." Juan rubbed his sore wrists.

  Ernie said, "He was tied up."

  "She must of found some rope," Juan said desperately. "Maybe she wanted to make sure I didn't come after her."

  The old man was silent. Juan waited. At last René said, "Why did she leave?"

  "She didn't want to go to the farm," Juan said. "She must of gone back to the city or something. You going after her?"

  "You can leave us, Ernie," the old man said. The big man climbed out of the truck. Juan sat, feeling sick and sad. At least I'm alive, he thought. Aisha had saved his life. She was his friend, even if she had made a mess out of everything. He wondered if he would have done the same for her.

  "It hurts," René said. "She could have had something. My daughter ran off like that. Let her go, I won't harbor trash. She can go to hell."

  "I know," Juan said, remembering that the old guy liked loyalty. "I thought she was my friend. That's why I went after her." He tried to force a tear, but could not.

  "Have William check that head," the old man said wearily. "Go on."

  Juan got out of the truck, feeling tired. Ildico came up to him. "You look shitty," she said harshly. "Where's Aisha?" She pulled him away from the truck.

  "She ran away. Be careful of my arm."

  "Are they still looking for her?"

  "Not any more."

  "Shit." Ildico's face crumpled. "Shit."

  "She hit me over the head."

  "Don't you dare tell me that." She raised her arm.

  "She did."

  Ildico sighed and lowered her arm. "Damn her," she said. "She's stupid, stupid." She marched away.

  Juan looked around for William. He felt an empty space inside his head. He wondered what would happen to Aisha. He imagined her moving through the forest with the doctor, winding through trees, stepping over twigs, pushing through underbrush; he would have to forget about her now. The two figures grew smaller, until they were hidden by the trees.

  FIVE

  Paula Boleyn

  Paula Boleyn sat on the low stone wall, looking down at the meadow where the cows were grazing peacefully. The afternoon sun warmed her; she gazed at the wooded hills beyond the meadow, wishing somehow that they would change, that one day she would come out here and see something different. Strange, she thought. She felt less alone here, during the only time of the day when she could be by herself and think, than during the times she spent with the others.

  The summer heat often made her feel weak, but she preferred it to the winters, the months when travel was almost impossible, the days when she was trapped inside. She had thought once that they were lucky to have a dairy farm; other farms had more trouble.

  But now, she felt otherwise; the winters were longer and colder, the spring and summer seasons more unpredictable. The dairy, and other families, brought the farm's milk, and Paula's family grew most of their own food. But they lost a few cows each year; poisonous strains of grass appeared without warning. Their crops were often drowned in rain or starved for water. Occasionally a cow would sicken almost without warning, and become violent and dangerous before it was shot. The dairy, contending with the army's demands for more milk and cheese, was paying them less as a result.

  Paula looked up at the large white house on the hill. It seemed to rule her, draining her energy. She was getting old; she was constantly reminded of it. Every morning she searched her light brown hair for gray strands and never found them. Her round, rosy-cheeked face looked the same. But the days were longer, more tiring. Her nights with Andy involved going through motions, getting the business finished, wishing she could just go to sleep. She was usually relieved when Andy, as he so often did now, simply patted her hand and went to sleep.

  Guiltily she thought of the times she pretended to be asleep or told Andy she was too tired for sex. She usually told him that when she was sure she was ovulating. The urgency she had felt when they were first married had died. She recalled days when she had grown weak with wanting him, wishing he would make love to her during the day and not caring if everyone in the house knew and teased them for not waiting until night. But she had been fourteen then. She was thirty-two now, and growing old.

  At least Andy was kind. Everyone thought Paula's sister Enid, the oldest and therefore the favorite, had done better, marrying Randolph Van Wyck. But Paula knew it wasn't true. Randolph was rich, and Enid would inherit the farm Paula's parents now owned, though she would probably have to rent it to tenants. But Randolph was fat, and mean, and entertained on his farm people Paula wouldn't have had in the kitchen—people from New York City, where Randolph did a lot of business.

  She noticed her son Bert coming up the hill with Guy Solokov, one of their farmhands. She ran a hand anxiously through her
short hair; Bert had to be married soon. She had to plan the match carefully. She watched him as he climbed with the bald, wiry Guy, and thought: Bert had been such a beautiful child. Now he was awkward and too thin, his black hair oily and unruly. His face was too pointed, and he never seemed to smile. Like most fifteen-year-olds, he was moody or angry. Sometimes he made her hate him. The kind, gentle little boy who would work hard and pick wildflowers for her was gone forever.

  "Bert," she called, waving to him. "Bert!" He ignored her. Guy jostled him and pointed at Paula. Bert shrugged. As they came to the low stone wall, Guy hopped up on it briskly, jumped down, and continued toward the house. Bert, shoulders slouched, sat next to her.

  "What is it?" he said morosely. She reached over and patted him on the shoulder. He recoiled and retreated, sitting down again where she could not reach him.

  She said, "Have you thought about our talk last week?"

  The boy shook his head.

  "Haven't you considered it at all?"

  Bert shook his head again. Why couldn't he have his father's eyes, Paula wondered. Andy's eyes were a deep blue; she used to put herself into a trance looking into them. Bert's were small and gray. "I don't want to push you, Bert," she went on, "but you'll be sixteen soon and you'll have to be married one of these days. I've been going to a lot of trouble trying to fix things for you."

  "What if I don't want to bother?"

  "Damn it," she muttered, suddenly irritated, "you're going to inherit this farm. You didn't want to go to the university to become a scholar, so, unless you want to become a migrant or go to the city and starve, you'll have to work it and have a family to leave it to." She brushed a fly off her trousers. "Which girl do you prefer?"

  "I don't like Nancie Rosendahl, and Alice Raineau is so nicey-nice it makes me sick."

  "You hardly know them," Paula said. "You've only met them a couple of times."

  "Nancie's a snob, and Alice is bossy."

  "Your father was right." Paula frowned and folded her arms. "I shouldn't have talked to you. I should have gone ahead. You don't know what's good for you. My parents didn't discuss my marriage with me, you can be sure. At least I'm giving you a choice. I practically have promises from Mrs. Raineau and the Rosendahls, if we decide to make a formal offer." She brushed a lock of hair from her face. "Nancie Rosendahl's an only child, so she'll get other offers if we don't move soon. I don't think her parents would have listened to me if they didn't think so much of Andy. And Alice may be poor, but she's very skilled, very practical, she'd make a good partner. And she's strong. She'll get other offers, too."