by Alden Bell
Richard Grierson smiles, but it’s an inward-pointing smile, a smile of someone folding himself back up for storage in the colorful corners of his own crayon fantasies. She looks at the books, their titles hazy with a thin film of sawdust, and she looks at the toy ships built for imaginary journeys along the red dotted lines of a child’s map, and she looks at the exotic pictures in the books still open flat before her, and she understands that these places are just places of the mind, and she wants to be able to exalt his wild dreams and imaginings along with her own—but there’s something about them that make them feel like the saddest thing she’s ever seen.
SHE STAYS in the house another week, longer than she meant to—walking the fence during the day, helping Maisie in the kitchen just to have something to do. Mrs. Grierson teaches her a card game called pea-nuckle, but she gets too good at it and has to let the old woman win half the time out of pure graciousness. Nights, she takes the path to the bluff and looks out over the city and counts the lights. Sometimes James Grierson goes up with her, and sometimes she is alone. Sometimes she passes by his room in the middle of the night and the door to his bedroom is open and she finds him lying on the bed waiting for her. They do their private deeds, when he’s not too drunk, but she doesn’t sleep in his bed because she’s not used to sleeping next to someone and she doesn’t want to get accustomed to it. In the dark, she wonders where the light is coming from that is reflected on the surface of his eyes. They drink from the same bottle, and he tells her she can come with him the next time he makes a run for supplies.
She nods, thinking she’ll be long gone by then. She imagines the road, the car, by herself again, the long narrow tarmac leading forward deep into a country that keeps unfolding, dead and alive.
She wonders where she will go next. She’s been down south for a long time now, almost as long as she can remember, flying like a blackbird back and forth from post to post along the same decaying fence. Maybe she’ll go north to see Niagara Falls, where Lee the hunter had been—all that water tumbling over the edge of the earth, and the river never running out of it. It is something she would like to see, no doubt about it. And then maybe up into Canada since she’s never been to another country before—except maybe Mexico, and only that because the border isn’t so clear anymore and she may have tipped over it to the other side once or twice when she was in Texas.
Or the beaches of California that she’s seen in tattered magazines published decades before. Palm tree sunsets, the wide white meridians of sand, the piers projecting out toward the horizon and the water crashing violently against the barnacled pilings. She has heard that there are places in California to live—large areas fenced off and safe. Places where commerce has resumed and governments have been reestablished on a small scale. Oases of civilization. It puts her in mind of a new world. She might like to see something like that.
Or the snowy mountains, where she could build a castle of ice. She saw the snow once before, in the mountains of North Carolina. You could drive hours along a snowy road without seeing one slug—they don’t naturally take to the cold. They don’t die, but they slow down to a stop and freeze in place. She remembers one small town built up around an abandoned ski lodge. A community of frozen meatskins like statuary in the streets. She walked among them and wondered what God had to do with a tableau like that one, for surely He must know that such a thing existed.
Even Richard Grierson knows that the world is a wide place. And the way she figures it, it’s as much hers as anybody’s. Only there are some things that stay with you no matter where you go.
And James comes to find her on the bluff one evening after dinner when there are no clouds in the sky and the lights of the city below seem like dazzling reflections of the stars.
What do you know about someone named Moses Todd?
And she can feel her insides twisting up.
How do you know that name?
Because that’s the name he gave when Johns found him down at the gate. He’s in the parlor at the moment. Richard is giving him a recital.
7.
They let him in before James knew what was happening, he explains to her. He was already sitting on the couch when James saw him, sipping iced tea and listening to his brother Richard play. An arm extended over the back of the couch and one leg crossed expansively over the other. He smiled when he saw James.
Good evenin, the man said, rising from the couch and extending his hand.
A big man, and his clubbed fist closed over James’s hand like a softened brick.
James, his grandmother said, let me introduce you to Mr. Moses Todd. He’s traveling.
A pleasure, James said.
Another of your grandsons, I reckon?
My boys, she nodded. Their father is ill, so he won’t be joining us. But we have another guest, and I’ll introduce you to her when she returns. Sarah Mary likes to take walks in the evening.
James noticed something lock down in the man’s eyes.
It’ll be my honor to say hello to her, Moses Todd said.
We’ve been so blessed these past few days, his grandmother said. Richard, James—haven’t we been blessed?
Very blessed, Richard confirmed. And lucky for them—it’s not safe out there.
SHE FOLLOWS James Grierson back down the path and stops at her car and takes a pistol out of the duffel in the backseat—and then they enter the house through the kitchen, making as little noise as possible.
In the hall outside the parlor, she can hear Richard at the piano playing a song that reminds her of a lullaby. Between the notes she can hear the wooden ticking of the grandfather clock by the door. She waits until the song is done and she can hear clapping—which means that Moses Todd’s hands are occupied—and then she throws open the door and advances with the gun aimed steady at his head.
He is as big as she remembers, thick as a tree and craggy as one too. His dark beard is untrimmed, and his greasy hair is swept back from his forehead.
He continues to sit, unmoving, when he sees her, but a smile emerges on his lips.
My goodness! Mrs. Grierson gasps, putting a hand to her mouth.
What’s happening? Richard says.
Hello, girl, Moses Todd says, and he rises to his feet, stretching himself to his full Paul Bunyan height.
I’ll kill you if you take a step, Temple says.
You certainly will not, Mrs. Grierson says. I don’t know what this is about, but—
Richard, James says, take Grandmother upstairs.
But what’s happening? Richard says again.
Goddamnit, Richard, just do it.
Richard shrinks into an anxious knot like a snarling badger, but he goes to his grandmother and takes her by the arm and leads her out of the room.
They listen to the footsteps ascend the stairs.
It ain’t nice to point guns at guests, Moses Todd says.
You’re my guest, James says. Not hers. And she’s the one with the gun.
That’s a true thing, Moses nods in acknowledgment.
Move over there, Temple says, pointing to a dark wooden chair with a seat cushion made of patterned satin. Go slow.
Moses Todd sits in the chair and James gets some rope from the basement and ties his wrists to the arms and his ankles to the legs.
How you know you’re on the right side here? Moses Todd asks James while he’s knotting the rope.
She’s been in this house eight days and hasn’t killed anyone yet, James says. And you have a troublesome look about you.
Fair enough, Moses says. But did she tell you she killed my brother? And she did it with her bare hands, like an animal. Is that somethin she mentioned over your evenin vittles?
James casts a brief look in her direction but doesn’t wait for either confirmation or denial.
I guess you two have some things to talk about, he says. I’ll be in the next room. You’ll call out if you need anything?
Temple nods.
How you been, girl? Mos
es says once James is gone.
I been fine.
He sucks in his lips, and his whole beard changes shape like a sea urchin, and she can see his white tongue moistening the corners of his mouth as if he’s settling in for a long speech.
Nice accommodations you found for yourself, he says and uses his head to gesture all around him.
Yeah, they’re right people. A little screwy, some of em. But they do keep a household.
How’s the food?
Best I ate in a while.
She sits down on the couch near the chair and rests her elbows on her knees. She sets the gun on the coffee table, and he looks at it. It would be within his reach if he were not tied.
You better be careful, girl. You best be sure I can’t bust this rope and make a grab at that.
If you can do it, I invite you to. It’ll finish the job one way or the other.
He looks at her for a long time, his eyes searching her—but not under her clothes like where his brother’s eyes went. The eyes of Moses Todd dig into her head and make curious explorations.
A hearty laugh bursts from his throat, and she jumps a little. She can see little bits of food crusted in his beard.
You got qualities, child, he says. You sure got qualities.
How’d you find me anyway?
I’m a tracker. Grew up with hunters in Arkansas. Filthy men, you wouldn’t like em. But they taught me how to track and hunt. And there ain’t many towheaded girls on the plains these days—yours ain’t a hard trail to sniff out.
She looks him up and down, suspiciously.
I don’t guess you’re that good a tracker, she says.
I’m here, ain’t I? Hey, did you see the horde they got downtown a couple miles back? Downright blindin—I was drivin through them like mosquitoes. You don’t wanna get caught in the middle of that without a quick means of exit.
Yeah, I saw it. They learned to eat other things. Horses, raccoons. They’ve gone cannibal, some of em.
Is that right. He shakes his head. Now that is a unqualified perversion of nature, ain’t it?
It don’t bode well for starvin em off, she agrees.
I reckon when you leave here, he says, you won’t be going back through town then.
She looks at him.
Listen, she says. I know why you’re comin after me. I know what you intend.
I guessed as much from bein tied to a chair at gunpoint.
Your brother, I took care of him—so he wouldn’t come back, I mean. I wouldn’t wish that on anybody. I took care of it.
I know you did, and I’m obliged. But it don’t quite make up for killin him in the first place.
I got to tell you—he wasn’t a good man, your brother. He tried things. He was movin to take unsolicited liberties with me.
Moses Todd lowered his head and looked sadly into his lap for a moment. Then he raised his eyes and spoke softly to her.
To be honest, he said, I sort of figured that might be the case. He shouldn’t of done it. And you have my right sympathies about that. Abraham and me, we were cut from different cloth.
He took a deep breath and looked straight in her eyes again, but differently this time.
But the fact is, you and me, we ain’t in control of the fates remitted us. We just got to discharge them the best way we can, according to whatever frail laws we got. Who made Abraham Todd my brother? Who delivered you into his mitts? It ain’t me, and it ain’t you, girl. That boy was my flesh and blood, idiot or no. Yeah, he wasn’t a good man. But that don’t make no difference. And you know it.
She sighs and sits back on the couch.
Yeah, I guess I do.
We’re just playin the parts written down and put before us.
I know it, she concedes.
Yeah, I can see you do know it. You got a sense of these things, same as me. You understand there’s an order to the world—a set of rules, same for men and gods. See, a lot of people think the planet’s out of whack because of the creepers—they think everything’s up for grabs, blood and mind and soul. You and me, we dwell on the land, not just behind the walls. We know the look of God is still on us. I respect you for havin such clear vision, just bein a girl and all.
She scratches an itch on her knee.
You’re a talker, she says, ain’t you?
You gonna say my talk is false?
No, I ain’t. I’m just gonna say it’s a big thought for a small evenin. I don’t know what to do with that kind of palaver.
It is for sure a deep well to descend—and you and me, girl, we’re two meager intellects. So what are we gonna do now?
Well, she says, leaning forward again, I got a few ideas about that.
I’m eager to hear em.
I reckon you’re gonna stay tied to this chair for a while. And me, I’m gonna go out to my car and get in it and drive on outta here and get some good distance between you and me. And tomorrow morning these nice people will untie you and let you go on your way. You ain’t got any projections on hurting these people, do you?
They ain’t done anything to me. Apart from tying me to a chair—and I believe I’ll hold you accountable for that.
I’m putting you down for an honest man, Mose.
As you can see, girl, we live in a world that don’t ask or need dishonesty. You got my word.
That’s fine.
But I reckon you oughta shoot me now, he says, still smiling and licking his lips beneath the scraggly beard.
You ain’t done nothing to me.
Not yet. But I give you another guarantee—my word as a man under the gray heaven of death. The next time I see you, I sure am gonna kill you.
His eyes, again, catch on the inside of her head and go hunting around in there—and it feels like someone is watching her through a dark window of night. He sits there, tied down, like an Egyptian statue at the entrance of some ancient underworld cave.
She doesn’t want her secrets to be his secrets. She stands and takes the gun from the coffee table.
Well, she says, you ain’t done nothin yet but be a pest to me. And I don’t reckon I can kill you for that.
You got a righteous honor to you, girl. You and me, we’ll sweep a little more of the dust away from the earth before we settle down to cuttin throats.
UPSTAIRS SHE sits on the bed next to the man with the slow gray eyes and the pan-shaped face. She thinks about how similar in stature he is to Moses Todd, except this man paws at the air and drifts without thought of creation or the hand of God. She rubs her hand back and forth over his shaved head and feels the bristly hair coming in. He cranes his neck and looks questioningly at her hand, and she shows it to him, palm up, fingers splayed. He covers it with his own giant mitt.
All right, dummy, she says. I guess this is where we part ways.
He plays gently with her fingers.
Be good now. They gonna be surprised to find you still here in the morning and me gone, but they’ll treat you good. Just don’t let em feed you to that daddy of theirs, and you’ll be okay.
She smiles at him, and he continues to toy with her fingers.
Just kiddin with you, dummy. They ain’t gonna hurt you, they’re good folk.
Her plan is to tell James Grierson to watch over Moses Todd while she makes her getaway. He’ll be too distracted to notice what she left behind.
The Griersons, they’ll take care of the dummy. Better than she can. She’s no wet nurse, no righteous savior of meek men. She knows where she belongs—with the cannibals and the madmen, with the eaters of flesh and the walkers of a blight land, with the abominations. She’s done things that mark her forever, as good as a brand on her forehead—and her denial of them would be fruitless. It would be vanity.
WHERE ARE you going to go? James Grierson asks.
North, I was thinkin. She shrugs.
They are in the library on the second floor. There are French-style doors that open onto a balcony in the front of the house and bookshelves piled high with colorful
volumes. She wonders, as she sometimes does, about what it would have been like to have grown up a hundred years before she did. She pictures herself sitting at a desk, learning her letters, some gray-haired woman in a spiffy dress at the front of the room using a long stick to point at a map of the world, taking tests hunched over at a little wooden desk, chewing on the end of a pencil. But it’s hard to keep that world in focus, and her imagination gets away with her and she imagines a meatskin bursting into the room and all the children fleeing and her taking her gurkha from her bookbag and planting it solidly in the meatskin’s skull, feeling the thick, catching resistance as the blade sinks home. And then all the other children cheering her, and her gray-haired teacher nodding in approval. It makes her grin to think of such scenes.
He’ll follow you, James Grierson is saying.
I guess he will. But he ain’t so good a tracker as he says. Besides, with half a day’s head start there ain’t no way he’ll be able to find me.
I’ll keep him longer.
Nah—half a day is enough. He’ll beat on outta here quick if he still thinks he might be able to catch me. You keep him longer than that and you’ll risk him doin some damage before he goes.
I can take care of him.
Sure you can, but your granny don’t want no fuss—and neither does your brother or Johns or Maisie for that matter. They all do a pretty fair job of keepin the world at a distance. I guess there ain’t no need in bringin a war into their parlor now.
You sure you know what you’re doing? You can’t just wander the country your whole life.
Who says I can’t? I only ever seen a couple interesting alternatives. And those situations—well, either they don’t last or I don’t seem to harmonize with them. I’ll be all right, I guess. If I find something worth stoppin for, I’ll stop.
He shakes his head and smiles.
I might be inclined to go with you if it weren’t for the Grierson heritage that needs overseeing.
You got your mission and I got mine. There ain’t no use dreamin about romantical roadtrips.