Part 9 (1/2)
He could feel insects moving on his back; a heavy crawling overcoat that weighed him down. He crept onwards, silently mouthing Help me in a last, desperate plea for salvation. He gritted his teeth and summoned one last ounce of strength, and tried to stand.
Rising, he threw his arms into the black cloud as it swallowed what was left of the dull gun-metal light. Mind-shattering pain seared his hands. The gloves he wore began disintegrating. The carnivorous flies were devouring him like piranhas.
The man could feel the buzzing insects enter his open, screaming mouth, as the agonizing pain began to spread through his entire body, burning in his throat and then his lungs. He never saw the flesh of his arms turning black; huge blisters growing and bursting like flowering plants exploding into deep crimson geysers. Bone, yellow-white, showed through his flesh as it became a bubbling swarm of living-black.
Finally, with his last breath, the man screamed.
The screaming echoed across the lake, and a few of the swans bolted, rising out of the water and flying away from the woodlands to land on the other side of the lake.
And then all was silent. The ducks continued their trip to the bridge and the swans went back to searching for food. And Judy was never coming home.
About Andy Mee.
Andy Mee is a teacher of English Literature working and living in the Welsh valleys with his wife and young daughter. Occasionally, when finding time away from a.n.a.lyzing other authors' writing in the cla.s.sroom, he likes to dabble with language and spin a yarn of his own. Andy has written short stories and poetry for a number of small press publications. e by and give us a hand.”
”Sure.”
”A ride anyway.”
”Keep thinking that, college boy.”
”Someone is bound to come along,” the young man said.
”Maybe. Maybe not. Who else takes these cutoffs? The main highway, that's where everyone is. Not this little no-account shortcut.” He finished by glaring at the young man.
”I didn't make you take it,” the young man snapped. ”It was on the map. I told you about it, that's all. You chose it. You're the one that decided to take it. It's not my fault. Besides, who'd have expected the car to die?”
”I did tell you to check the water in the radiator, didn't I? Wasn't that back as far as El Paso?”
”I checked. It had water then. I tell you, it's not my fault. You're the one that's done all the Arizona driving.”
”Yeah, yeah,” the old man said, as if this were something he didn't want to hear. He turned to look up the highway.
No cars. No trucks. Just heat waves and miles of empty concrete in sight.
They seated themselves on the hot ground with their backs to the car. That way it provided some shade-but not much. They sipped on a jug of lukewarm water from the Plymouth and spoke little until the sun fell down. By then they had both mellowed a bit. The heat had vacated the sands and the desert chill had settled in. Where the warmth had made the pair snappy, the cold drew them together.
The old man b.u.t.toned his s.h.i.+rt and rolled down his sleeves while the young man rummaged a sweater out of the back seat. He put the sweater on, sat back down. ”I'm sorry about this,” he said suddenly.
”Wasn't your fault. Wasn't anyone's fault. I just get to yelling sometime, taking out the canopener trade on everything but the can openers and myself. The days of the doortodoor salesman are gone, son.”
”And I thought I was going to have an easy summer job,” the young man said.
The old man laughed. ”Bet you did. They talk a good line, don't they?”
”I'll say!”
”Make it sound like found money, but there ain't no found money, boy. Ain't nothing simple in this world. The company is the only one ever makes any money. We just get tireder and older with more holes in our shoes. If I had any sense I'd have quit years ago. All you got to make is this summer -”
”Maybe not that long.”
”Well, this is all I know. Just town after town, motel after motel, house after house, looking at people through screen wire while they shake their heads No. Even the c.o.c.kroaches at the sleazy motels begin to look like little fellows you've seen before, like maybe they're doortodoor peddlers that have to rent rooms too.”
The young man chuckled. ”You might have something there.”
They sat quietly for a moment, welded in silence. Night had full grip on the desert now. A mammoth gold moon and billions of stars cast a whitish glow from eons away.
The wind picked up. The sand s.h.i.+fted, found new places to lie down. The undulations of it, slow and easy, were reminiscent of the midnight sea. The young man, who had crossed the Atlantic by s.h.i.+p once, said as much.
”The sea?” the old man replied. ”Yes, yes, exactly like that. I was thinking the same. That's part of the reason it bothers me. Part of why I was stirred up this afternoon. Wasn't just the heat doing it. There are memories of mine out here,” he nodded at the desert, ”and they're visiting me again.”
The young man made a face. ”I don't understand.”
”You wouldn't. You shouldn't. You'd think I'm crazy.”
”I already think you're crazy. So tell me.”
The old man smiled. ”All right, but don't you laugh.”
”I won't.”
A moment of silence moved in between them. Finally the old man said, ”It's fish night, boy. Tonight's the full moon and this is the right part of the desert, if memory serves me, and the feel is right - I mean, doesn't the night feel like it's made up of some soft fabric, that it's different from other nights, that it's like being inside a big, dark bag, the sides sprinkled with glitter, a spotlight at the top, at the open mouth, to serve as a moon?”
”You lost me.”
The old man sighed. ”But it feels different. Right? You can feel it too, can't you?”
”I suppose. Sort of thought it was just the desert air. I've never camped out in the desert before, and I guess it is different.”
”Different, all right. You see, this is the road I got stranded on twenty years back. I didn't know it at first, least not consciously. But down deep in my gut I must have known all along I was taking this road, tempting fate, offering it, as the football people say, an instant replay.”
”I still don't understand about fish night. What do you mean, you were here before?”
”Not this exact spot, somewhere along in here. This was even less of a road back then than it is now. The Navajos were about the only ones who traveled it. My car conked out, like this one today, and I started walking instead of waiting. As I walked the fish came out. Swimming along in the starlight pretty as you please. Lots of them. All the colors of the rainbow. Small ones, big ones, thick ones, thin ones. Swam right up to me...right through me! Fish just as far as you could see. High up and low down to the ground.