Eden West (12 page)

She laughs. “I bet they don’t smoke what
I
was smoking.”

I don’t know what she is talking about, but I sense that she has sinned mightily. I notice then that the shadow cast by the fence is long, and the sun is low in the sky. I jump to my feet. “I must go.”

“So soon?” She looks disappointed.

“I must repair the fence hole. And I have much walking to do.” Judging by the sun, I will not get home until after dark. Enos will make inquiries. I am already forming excuses and lies in my mind.

Lynna is gathering up the remains of our meal.

“Give me a minute to pack this up,” she says, fitting the empty containers into her pack. “I’ll help you fill in the hole.”

“Thank you.” I pick up a rock and move it over to the fence. It will take many such stones to fill the gap beneath the chain-link.

She says, “Hey, don’t block me in!” She zips her pack shut and starts to wriggle back under the fence. I pull up on the chain-link, and she is through. “Throw me my pack?”

I loft her pack up over the razor wire. She stows it in her ATV, then starts gathering stones. With both of us working from different sides, it takes only a few minutes to fill the gap.

“I think that’s enough,” I say.

We look at each other through the fence. Her blue-nailed fingers grasp the chain-link.

“It was fun hanging with you,” she says.

I am not sure why she says “hanging,” but I take her meaning.

“Me too,” I say, moving closer. Though we spent much of the afternoon together, we have not touched. Now, with the fence between us, I reach out and twine my fingers in hers.

“I like you,” she says, then grins. “Even if you are a super-serious cult boy who never smiles.”

I laugh. How long has it been?

“He laughs!” She squeezes my fingers. “He smiles!”

We stand there grinning at each other for a few seconds.

“Let’s do this again,” she says. “Next, um,
Landay
?”

“Landay after next,” I say. “I walk the fence on the second and fourth Landays.”

“In two weeks then. About the same time?”

I nod. Our fingers slip apart and the moment is ended. I mount my pack on my shoulders, pick up my shovel and carbine, and set off along the fence. I will miss supper and Babel Hour, but I do not care. My fingertips are buzzing; I can still feel her touch. I hear the burble of the ATV engine. A few seconds later, Lynna is riding parallel to me on the other side. She waves. I wave back. We continue along the fence, keeping each other company for nearly a mile, until the fence line dips down to enter the northeast bowl, a wooded area where her machine cannot go. With a final wave, she veers off and accelerates. I stop and watch her until the ATV is out of sight.

I am bubbling inside. I have touched a girl. My fingers tingle with memory, and I feel something else deep inside. I have stepped outside the Grace. Father Grace has taken Ruth from me, but I have touched a girl. I feel triumph, a sense of power, as I enter the woods. The hill behind me eclipses the sun, but a lightness sustains me as I move down the shadowed path into the quiet murk of the forest.

I quicken my pace. The sun will set within the hour. I still have five miles of fence to patrol, but the walking will be easy. Each impact of my feet hitting the trail joggles the images in my mind.

Lynna. Ruth. Father Grace
.

The trees seem to lean in on me. My feet hit the packed earth like the chuffing of a motor.

Will. Tobias
.

I wish I could tell them what I have done, but it must remain a secret. I have a secret.

The Tree. Babel Hour
.

I will not regret missing Babel Hour. But there will be questions. I imagine myself sitting before Enos, telling him more lies.

Enos. My father. Von
.

Suddenly I am staggering beneath the onus of my sins. What have I done? There is no way I can meet with Lynna again. My stomach churns with the weight of strange Worldly foods. I fear I will vomit them up, but I keep moving and the moment passes.

I start to run. The trail steepens; the pack straps hammer my shoulders. I am not even looking at the fence. I run until the thoughts in my head become a blur and the pain in my legs and shoulders is all that occupies me. For a few seconds, the physical pain provides me with mental peace. I lengthen my stride, and my foot comes down on an exposed root, turning it in, sending me sprawling headfirst. The carbine and shovel go flying, and the pack slams into my back as I hit the hard earth. I know at once that something bad has happened, even before the pain rockets from my ankle up my right leg.

I do not move. I know it will hurt. My leg feels hot. I imagine a broken bone, jutting out through the skin of my ankle. I wonder if I will be able to move at all or if I will simply lie there until I die. No, not die. Enos will send out searchers.

Carefully I turn onto my back. The pain is less than I feared. I sit up and carefully unlace my boot. I peel back the sock. My skin is unbroken, but my ankle is swelling rapidly. I try to move it. It hurts, but not terribly. Maybe it is just a sprain. I grab a nearby birch sapling and stand up using my good leg. The forest whirls around me. I hang tight to the sapling until the dizziness passes, then test the injured ankle with some weight. It feels wrong, but it doesn’t hurt. I take a step. My ankle explodes with pain; I gasp and grab the sapling again. I lower myself to the ground and wait for the trees to stop spinning.

Using the small saw in my pack, I cut down the little sapling that served me so well and use the fence-repair tools in my pack to fashion it into a sort of crutch. I hobble around for several steps to test it. It will be slow going, but at least I can move. My fear of being stranded leaves me, to be replaced with a sense of satisfaction. By the most direct route, the Village is less than two miles distant. I am confident I can make it back, even if I have to crawl.

I gather my shovel and carbine, fasten them to my pack, and begin the long journey home. At least I will not be blamed for shirking my duty. My injury will tell its own lies about why I will be arriving so late.

It is a very long walk. I follow the fence line toward the road that will take me home, one lurching step at a time. The pain from my ankle comes and goes in dizzying waves, and the failing light makes the footing treacherous. Twice I fall and lie on the trail, thinking it might be best to simply build a fire and wait for help. It cannot be long before Brother Enos sends out search parties. But both times I get up and keep moving.

As I come up out of the woods and onto the north ridge, the last glimmer of sunset has come and gone, and I have only completed a small part of my journey. With two good legs, I could reach the Village within half an hour, but on this night I estimate it will take another three hours of hobbling.

By the time I reach the North Road, my armpit is rubbed raw from the rough crossbar of the crutch, my ankle is a throbbing melon hanging off the end of my leg, and it is pitch-dark. Still a mile to go, but now that I am on the road the walking will be easier.

I leave the pack, the shovel, and my carbine by the side of the road. Brother Peter can pick them up later in his ATV. I continue on. All thoughts of the Worldly girl have left me. I think only of the next step. I am cold. The warmth left with the sun, and I can see my breath, but I am sweating. Icy sweat runs down my face onto my neck. My eyes are fixed on the dirt surface of the road a few steps in front of me. My universe is reduced to a few square cubits. I attempt to pray, but the prayers I know so well are jumbled and meaningless. I take this as a sign that Zerachiel will not help me now. I have touched a girl. I have only this crude crutch, and my will, to carry me home.

Something compels me to raise my head, and I see a ghostly blur standing on the road a few dozen cubits ahead. I stop and try to make it out. At first I think I am looking at one of our flock, a sheep that has found a breach in the fence. But its shape is wrong. This is no sheep.

It is the wolf.

I reach for my carbine, but it is not there. I left it with my pack, back by the gate. I look around, but see no other wolves. A lone wolf is not likely to attack, I tell myself.

The wolf is moving, coming toward me slowly.

“Go away!” I wave my crutch and almost fall down. I catch myself. Falling would be bad. To a wolf, revealing myself to be crippled would be an invitation to dinner.

The wolf stops and sits down about twenty paces away. I can make out some of the details of its face. I feel in my pocket for my folding knife. A three-inch blade is small defense against a mouthful of canine teeth, but it is all I have.

“I’ll hurt you,” I say.

The wolf tips its head. I sense it is amused.

“You don’t belong here. Go!”

The wolf yawns.

I don’t know what else to do, so I start moving toward him. The wolf stands and trots off to the side and into the field bordering the road. I keep moving. The wolf, less than a stone’s throw away, flanks me on my left. From time to time, it pulls ahead, then stops and waits for me to catch up. I go back and forth between watching the road surface in front of me and checking on the wolf. After perhaps ten minutes of this, the creature is gone. I stop and turn in a circle. The wolf has vanished. It could be lying low in the grasses. At any moment it might come leaping out of the blackness to tear open my throat. I keep moving, looking from the road ahead to the left, to the right, and every two steps turning to look behind. It is excruciatingly slow going. I imagine the wolf laughing at me from the darkness.

Time passes. The Village grows closer. I come to think that the wolf is truly gone, that it has gone off in search of more familiar prey. In any case, I am too exhausted to keep stopping and looking behind me. It occurs to me that the wolf may have been an avatar of Zerachiel, or of some dark lord. Or it may have been a hallucination, a dream, a waking nightmare. Is it possible to walk and dream at the same time? I cannot be certain. Not that it matters. I can only keep moving.

An eternity later, I see the faint glow of lights ahead. I can make out the shape of the Tower, a black cutout in the starry sky. I am in much pain, but it is easier to bear now that the Village is in sight. Only a few hundred more steps. I imagine myself in my mother’s arms.

The Hall of Enoch is ablaze with lights. It is unusual for it to be lit up so late at night. It takes me another eternity to limp up the walkway to the entrance. I push through the doors.

All the men of Nodd are gathered around the long table at the side of the room. I stand at the back of the hall, unnoticed.

“. . . in eighteen days they will come,” Enos is saying. “The politicians, the lawyers, the misguided, the heathens, the apostates, the degenerate — they come to Nodd to undo us with their lies and their hatred. We must gird ourselves. They must see us not as a threat, but as a people strong, determined, and righteous. Any sign of discontent will be reason for them to pry further into our affairs. We must present ourselves in the best possible light.”

“What of the boy?” asks Brother John.

For a moment I think he is talking about me, but Enos says, “Tobias is staying in Gracehome at present. Father Grace is working with him day and night. The boy will be ready by the time his uncle arrives.”

“And Brother Von?”

“Father Grace does not want Von disturbed by Worldly influences. He will be confined to the catacombs. We must present ourselves as cordial but strong. We will offer them our best food; we will allow them access to all areas save the Sacred Heart and the catacombs. We do not want them to perceive us as a threat, but at the same time we must show them that we are prepared to defend our rights.”

“The women will want to know how many are coming,” says Brother Peter.

“As many as
gabble
,” Enos says, “and
dabble babble gubba
.”

I shake my head. Is he speaking in tongues? My ears are buzzing. The floor seems to tilt. I clutch my crutch with both hands. One of the other men speaks meaningless noises that rattle against my ears. They are talking gibberish, and the air in the room is hot and moist and my head is floating. I open my mouth and a sound comes out, their faces turn toward me, and the floor rises to smite my face.