Neal Barrett Jr.

by Dawn's Uncertain Light

  The ship’s progress was posted every morning, and passengers could learn how many miles they had traveled the day before, and what lay to starboard and port. There were latitudes and longitudes—which made no sense to Howie—and remarks about the temperature and wind.

  Ritcher Jones had made the passage south many times before, and delighted in telling everything he knew. Once he pointed out a distant gray mass to the west and told Howie it was part of the Central Americas, lands that used to be nations right below Mexico.

  “No one goes there anymore,” Jones said grimly. “It’s a place of desolation. They got hit hard in the Great War.”

  Howie asked why that was so, and Jones couldn’t say. It was the same farther down, he knew that. He showed Howie a map of South America. Millions had starved down there in that same terrible war of the past. There might be people still alive, but no one knew for sure.

  “America got hit bad enough,” Jones said. “But I don’t guess anywhere near like the rest of the world did. Asia came through like us, but there isn’t anything in the Europes. A ship took a look over there about thirty years back. War’s a horrible thing, Cory. Even a small war like the one back home can bring a people down for good. We can’t let that keep happening—it’s just got to stop.”

  Howie had seen ruined cities from the past; it was easy to tell how bad things must’ve been. But it was hard to imagine a whole world like that, places all over as big as America where nothing lived at all. He had never heard of Asia or the Europes, and didn’t want to admit that to Jones.

  Everyone knew that the ship would make land right at dawn, and all the passengers were up on deck for the big event. The sun rose to a bright and cloudless day, and a few moments later, Howie could see a shoreline topped with emerald green. Finley passed his spyglass around, and everyone got a close look. Young Garvey swore he could see people moving about, but Howie doubted that. When it came Howie’s turn, he saw a tangle of thick foliage that reminded him of the ’glades. Waves of heat warped the view, and this confirmed what everybody said—that the tropics were about as close as you’d care to get to hell.

  An hour later, the ship passed the green shore to starboard, and Jones said they were entering a saltwater passage that linked the Atlantic and the Pacific, that the land on both sides was called Panama Province. Before the Great War, only a few ships could go through this passage at a time, but terrible weapons had been used here as well, and now the way was forty or fifty miles wide, right through to the other side.

  “Whatever did that must’ve been a sight to see,– Howie said.

  The remark earned Howie a stern preacher look. “Anybody saw that, boy, made a real quick trip to the devil or the Lord.”

  Howie could smell the port of Nueva Panama before he saw it. It was a mix of dead foliage, rotting fruit and stagnant water; that, and odors he couldn’t name, all borne on stifling waves of heat. The steamy climate of this part of the earth was more evident now that the ship was barely making way. There was no breeze at all, and great swarms of insects from the shore discovered the vessel and its passengers at once. There was no escape from these hordes of mosquitoes and gnats. Mrs. Garvey fled with her son to their cabin, but discovered soon enough that the room had become an oven, and returned to face the army of bugs.

  There were many other vessels in port. Howie counted over a dozen. As the ship made its way through the maze of hulls and masts, he spotted homes and buildings among the trees, one-and two-story structures in sun-faded tones of mustard and pink, lavender and blue. He could make out people on the dockfront now, men scurrying about, moving barrels and crates.

  Something caught Howie’s eye, and he strained for a closer look. He was startled by what he saw. God A’mighty, everybody’s skin was dark as pitch. The people on shore were all black!

  Jones, standing at the railing nearby, caught his expression at once.

  “I take it you’ve never seen such folks before,” the preacher said. “The first time can be a little scary, that’s a fact.”

  “I seen a stuffed nigger once at a fair,” Howie said. “When I was just a kid.”

  “I would not advise you to use that particular term around these people,” Jones said. “They would take great offense.”

  “How come they’re here?” Howie asked. “I thought they all died ’bout a hundred years ago.”

  “They mostly did. But some survived.” Jones shook his head. “That was a terrible thing, Cory. A shameful thing at best. All men are the same in the eyes of the Lord—or nearly the same, I’d say. Lawrence had some thoughts on that which I’d be glad to discuss at some time. Suffice it to say, there are black persons here. Panama Province belongs to them, and the city here is quite important as a midpoint of trade. Many ships from California or Alabama Port stop here and off-load, trading cargo in Nueva Panama port instead of making the trip from one ocean to the other. It’s quite convenient. And very profitable for the blacks, since they take a cut of every bit of business that’s done, and charge docking fees, loading fees, and fees for most everything else. They do business with us, but they are not overly friendly to persons of white skin. This is simply their way, and there’s little that can be done about it.”

  “I guess not,” Howie said. He watched as the ship neared land, thinking of the black man he’d met in the desert of Mexico leading a handful of pitiful creatures south, people who looked like stock and weren’t really stock at all. Jones didn’t need to know about that. It was something Howie could never share with anyone, not even Lorene.

  The black man had taken Howie in, and fed him by his fire. That didn’t seem real hostile to Howie, but maybe the blacks down here weren’t the same.

  Once, after Howie had seen the stuffed black man at the Bluevale Fair, Howie had asked his father why people with that kind of skin weren’t around anymore. Papa had kind of pushed the question aside, as he did sometimes, telling Howie there was “trouble” back then, before he himself was born, and anyway it was a lot of years ago. That was all he’d ever say, and Howie didn’t ask anymore.

  Now, Howie thought how if everyone had tried to kill them off, even before the Great War, the black people might have good reason not to care much for anyone else. Maybe the preacher couldn’t see that; it didn’t much appear like he did.

  Jones raised all kinds of hell when Howie said he planned to go ashore and look around. The preacher ranted .once again about the dangers of “mixing with folks who are different.” And, besides that, he said, it was clear that a certain young man had a knack for getting himself in situations where other people had to come and bail him out.

  The more Jones raved, the more determined Howie was to have his way. The ship would be in port until dawn the next day, and he wasn’t going to just mope around in the heat. Finally, the preacher stomped off in a huff, muttering dire predictions of Howie’s fate.

  Jones had forbidden Lorene to go ashore, and Howie was secretly pleased about that. He knew Dan Adams had been itching for a chance to get Lorene off to himself. Lorene had casually mentioned the invitation the night before, mostly to see how he’d react, Howie guessed, Adams wanted to take her ashore to “see the sights,” Lorene said, and Howie knew he had more in mind than that.

  Mr. Garvey stashed his family below, in spite of the heat, warning them not even to come on deck while they were in this “evil clime.”

  Before Howie left the ship, he saw Dr. Sloan hurriedly stepping ashore with his meager baggage. That seemed odd, a white man getting off in the port of Nueva Panama, as if he meant to stay. But Dr. Sloan was a kind of peculiar fellow anyway.

  Howie was delighted with the town. The narrow cobbled streets were lined with colorful adobe houses, one packed close against the next. Most of these dwellings were thatched with dried palms, but some of the large structures had steep roofs with orange tiles set in a wavy pattern.

  The people didn’t seem near as unfriendly as Jones had warned. For the most part, they simply ignored him an
d went about their business. Everyone seemed happy and busy at some task. Men, women and children were well dressed and clearly had enough to eat. Nueva Panama didn’t look at all like the dreary towns of America. The people were doing well here, and Howie didn’t blame them for keeping to themselves. They prospered from the trade that came their way, and had no reason to welcome further intrusion from that desolate country to the north.

  Purely by accident, Howie stumbled into the busy marketplace, a street of crowded booths and stalls. It seemed as if everyone in town had converged on this colorful spot at once. Merchants shouted their wares, thrusting fresh fruits and vegetables in every customer’s face. Howie marveled at the variety of foods for sale. There were melons of every kind, brilliant fruits of orange and yellow and green. Nearly everything there was something he’d never seen before. Most interesting of them all was a long fruit that looked for all the world like the enormous yellow pod of a pea. It hung in thick clusters from the stalls, and seemed to be a favored item of everyone who passed. Howie was determined to try one, and offered a merchant a coin. The man looked it over closely, one side and then the next, then handed Howie two of the strange fruits.

  Howie studied the things, not sure what to do with them at all. A small black boy saw his dilemma and laughed. He took the fruit from Howie and peeled the yellow skin from one end, revealing the ivory-colored part inside. Howie took a bite. Lord, it was about the best thing he’d ever eaten in his life! He bought two more, and gave the boy one for his help. The boy grinned and ran away.

  As Howie was moving through the marketplace, he glanced up through the crowd and spotted a familiar face. Dr. Sloan was less than ten feet away, standing before a booth that sold hats and other items made of straw. Sloan looked concerned, in heated conversation with a tall black man and a strikingly beautiful black woman. The man matched Sloan’s agitation, but the woman seemed absolutely calm. Finally, the black man turned and left, and Sloan and the woman walked off quickly in Howie’s direction.

  Howie ducked out of sight; he couldn’t say why, simply that it seemed the thing to do. If Sloan saw him, maybe he’d think Howie had followed him from the ship, and Howie didn’t want that. Howie watched for a moment as the pair made their way through the crowded street, then followed at a safe distance behind.

  He knew he had no business tailing Sloan and the fine looking woman. Whatever they were up to was no concern of his. Still, he didn’t let the two out of his sight. Sloan struck him as a man who didn’t act like other men; he wasn’t at all like Garvey or Ritcher Jones. He kept to himself and never said much at all. That wasn’t much reason to follow a man through a strange town, Howie knew, but it seemed good enough at the time.

  Maybe Ritcher Jones was right, he decided. Maybe he couldn’t help being where he didn’t belong.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  For a while, it was no problem to keep Sloan and his lady friend in sight. Even after the crowded marketplace gave way to a quieter section of town, the close-set houses and narrow, twisting streets made it easy to follow the pair without risk of being seen. Then, with no warning at all, the town stopped abruptly, a last pale blue house giving way to a green tangle of foliage, a barrier as formidable as any fortress wall.

  Howie stopped. Sloan and the lady couldn’t have simply vanished. He was certain he hadn’t lost them in the town—which meant there was a path or a road nearby. In spite of the heat, the place where he stood gave him a chill. He could almost see the jungle grow. If all the people left Nueva Panama today, Howie wondered how long it would take the green mass to advance and simply swallow up the town and drive right to the sea.

  The best thing to do was turn around and go back. It was time to stop acting like a fool. A bird as big as a hawk took flight from a branch overhead. It had a big hooked beak and feathers of every color you could name. Howie jumped in spite of himself. Hell, now I’m scared of birds, he thought sourly. I better go back and hide down belowdecks with young Garvey.

  He found the path a few yards to the left of the blue house. It was wide enough for a cart, and someone used it enough to hold back the growth on either side.

  Howie heard the sounds of the place before he saw it. A woman called out; children laughed and played at some game. When the first sign of a building came into sight, he stepped off the trail and made his way a few feet through the foliage. It was a small settlement in a clearing. Five or six small houses, and one long building, all painted in the same pastels as the dwellings in the town. Howie couldn’t spot Sloan or the lady. Several black men and women moved about, and there seemed to be plenty of children.

  There was a thatched roof by the side of the long building. The clearing was so bright it was hard to see into the shade. As his eye grew accustomed to light and shadow, he could make out people on the porch. To his surprise, the people in the shade were all white. Young people, men and women near his own age. They didn’t seem to be talking or doing much of anything at all. They just sat. Everyone was dressed the same: sandals, white trousers, and white shirts.

  Howie felt uneasy at the sight. What were they doing here? Maybe the blacks were keeping them in this place for some reason. Only that didn’t make a lot of sense, because Dr. Sloan was here and he was white, too. Unless he’d turned against his own kind. That was a thought. He sure was friendly with the pretty black woman.

  Howie kept watching, wondering why in hell he was standing there with salty sweat stinging his good eye, while every bug in Panama Province ate supper on his face and his arms. He sure didn’t intend to walk in and say hello, tell Sloan he was just passing by. Maybe, he thought, if he waited another minute, one of the white persons would get up and do something. He felt like he wanted to see that. One of them walking, or speaking to a friend. Anything but just sitting. Just sitting there bothered him a lot.

  He felt a sharp jab and reached up to slap the back of his neck. The jab returned at once. Howie cursed under his breath, slapped at the spot again, and turned around. He saw a black man standing there two feet away, a blade in his hand that was as long as Howie’s arm.

  “You lose your way, mister?” the man said.

  Howie tried a grin. “Yeah, now I guess maybe I did. You mind pointin’ the way back to town?”

  The black man didn’t smile. Howie noticed he didn’t seem to sweat, and wondered how he managed that.

  “I think maybe you need a little drink ’fore you go back to town,” the man said easily. “Maybe you sit down and rest.”

  “I thank you, but I’m just fine,” Howie said.

  “No. I don’t think this is so. You don’t look so good to me.” The man nodded toward the settlement. “You go this way.”

  Arguing with the man was a poor idea, Howie figured. The blade looked as if it was used to cut down small trees. He moved off back toward the path, keenly aware of the black man behind.

  Howie’s captor led him into the clearing. Two men spotted them approaching and started toward them at once. One of the men had a rifle.

  “You wait,” said the man with the blade, and walked toward the long low building.

  Neither of the two men spoke. The rifle looked old, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t work. The sun beat down without mercy on Howie’s head. No one suggested that they go and sit down in the shade. The covered porch he’d watched from the trees was less than twenty feet away. He could see the white people clearly now. Four men and two women. They sat on a long wooden bench and didn’t talk. Just watching them gave Howie the creeps. If he hadn’t seen their eyes wide open, he would swear they were asleep.

  A bird called out in the jungle. It sounded like the one he’d seen with all different colors. One of the men on the bench got to his feet. He stood very still for a moment, then turned his head and looked right at Howie. A big grin spread across his features. Howie’s knees nearly gave way. There was nothing at all behind the smile, nothing in the blue vacant eyes.

  The man turned and started walking out of the shade, sti
ll grinning from ear to ear. He walked real funny, his shoulders slumped down and his arms hanging loose by his sides,

  “Michael, now you want to go on back and sit down,” the man with the rifle said gently. “Just go on back and sit. Louanne, she’ll be out directly and see what you need.”

  The young man cocked his head to listen. Howie could imagine all the words taking shape somewhere inside his head, working up into a thought he could understand.

  “Go back and sit,” the man said again. “Go and sit down.”

  The white man’s eyes seemed to brighten for an instant. He turned and walked back and sat on the bench, almost as if he’d never moved.

  Howie found he’d been holding his breath. He let it out slowly, and felt another chill. He didn’t want to look at the people on the bench, but couldn’t bring himself to stop.

  Dr. Sloan suddenly appeared in the doorway of the long building. He looked at Howie a long time—just looked, and didn’t say anything at all. Finally, he motioned to the man with the rifle, and turned and walked back inside. The man nudged Howie toward the door and then on into the room.

  “It’s all right, William,” said Dr. Sloan. “I’ll call if I need you.”

  Sloan sat in a straw-backed chair. There were tables stacked with papers and books, and very little else in the room. The pretty black woman sat by the window. She looked curiously at Howie, and he was certain she started to smile.

  “Cory, what are you doing here?” said Dr. Sloan. He looked bone tired, as if the heat were sucking out all his strength.