The Last Pilot: A Novel (20 page)

He was supersonic?

Fastest damn bear in the world.

They should put him on the cover of
Life
.

Who’s been sit-ting in my chair?

That’s the funniest goddamn thing I ever heard.

Made one helluva mess.

He bought it? Harrison said.

Chute didn’t open, Ridley said. Poor bastard hit the runway like a sack of shit. Bull’s-eye, right in front of everyone. Damn thing exploded. Hell of a mess. They had to close the runway. Walker had to take a shower after.

This is the greatest story I ever heard, Jackie, Harrison said. How come you’re just tellin it to me now?

Ridley looked at the desk. You were kinda busy over the weekend, Jim, he said.

Oh, Harrison said. Right. Still a goddamned funny story.

Harrison spent the next four days preparing for the flight. Touch-and-go landings in an F-104, forty hours in the simulator. He was hardly home. Friday morning, the Big Engine performed beautifully. After the flight, he typed up his pilot’s report on the spare desk in Ridley’s office.
DATE, PILOT, FLIGHT NUMBER, FLIGHT TIME, LAUNCH LAKE, LANDING LAKE, LAUNCH TIME, LANDING TIME
. He pulled on a cigarette as he filled in each.
ABORTS: NONE.
He looked up from the typewriter and frowned. He filled out the names of the four chase pilots and the B-52 crew. Under
PURPOSE
he wrote
MH-96 EVALUATION
.
CONFIG: VENT ON, SL INDICATOR ON INSTR PANEL. BURN TIME: 82.4 SEC. THRUST: 100
%
.
He sighed, looked around for his coffee, then typed
RESULTS: MAX L/O RETURN FROM
~
45 SOUTH OF BASE DUE TO BOUNCE AND OVERSHOOT FOLLOWING REENTRY
. He looked at what he’d typed. He hadn’t realized how far up the nose had gone after he’d reentered the atmosphere. He’d ballooned out again and couldn’t turn. Sailed on by the landing lake at Mach three. Dropped back into the atmosphere over Pasadena with barely any fuel left, turned, made it back, landed safely—just.

Shit, he said, and unspooled the paper.

Walker came in.

I hear Pasadena’s nice this time of year, he said, grinning.

Harrison looked up, stubbing out his cigarette in a heavy glass ashtray.

I think you set some kinda cross-country record, Walker said.

All right, all right, Harrison said. I heard about Little John.

Oh, boy; that sure weren’t pretty.

Don’t doubt that.

I’m headin home. Give Gracie my love.

Thanks, Joe.

Harrison got home at nine. Grace was dozing on the sofa, Milo’s head resting on her lap. She stirred as he came in.

What time is it? she said, half asleep.

Did I wake you?

I left you dinner—it’s in the stove. I didn’t know when you’d be back.

Me either.

How was it?

Harrison didn’t answer. He stared out the window.

Jim?

Piece of cake, he said. I feel fine.

He walked into the kitchen. She sat up. Milo yawned. A few minutes later he came back in.

I’m going to bed, he said.

What about dinner? she said.

I’m not hungry.

He went upstairs.

C’mon boy, she said to Milo. Let’s get you some water.

Milo followed her into the kitchen. She refilled his bowl. The house was silent. She switched off the kitchen light, locked both doors, said good night to Milo and went upstairs. She could hear her husband moving around the bedroom. She stepped into the bathroom. By the time she got out, he was asleep.

The next morning Grace said, you haven’t forgotten we’re going up to Harper Farm have you? He said no and left for work.

Harper Farm was her father’s ranch. Hal’s heart had kicked and squeezed the previous summer, leaving him a sloppy gait and unstable hands. His world contracted. Grace tried to persuade him to sell up and come live with them in the Mojave but he said he couldn’t leave her mother. That Grace’s mother had died decades ago made no difference. She’d been buried on the ranch and, every night for a week after she’d gone, he’d lain right on top of the soil. Kevin, one of the hands, once told Grace that he’d seen her father testing out the spot for when his time came. The most crucial decision seemed to have been whether left, or right, of the existing plot would work best, with the less conventional top-to-tail also trialed. Grace wanted to talk to her father about it but could never bring herself to raise the topic. Recent events had affected Hal deeply. He’d taken to long and potentially hazardous night walks when the moon was fat enough for him to see. He ate dinner at breakfast and breakfast in the evening. When he slept, he slept on the floor. It was as though his life had been inverted by a powerful force he had no control over. In what was perhaps an attempt to restore some order to his life, Hal had decided to bring the wider family together for a reunion over the holidays.

Grace and Jim arrived at the farm early Christmas eve morning.

Daddy, Grace said, hugging her father on the stoop of the main house.

I’m sorry I wasn’t there, he said. His arms, still strong, mollified his willowy child.

Daddy, she whispered into his chest. They parted.

Jim, he said, shaking Harrison’s hand. Come on in.

Good to see you, Hal, he said.

We’ll bring the gifts up later, Grace said.

Aunt Carolyn hasn’t stopped asking me questions about you, sweetheart, Hal said. I’m glad you’re here.

Mixie here too? she said.

Sure is, Hal said.

Stevie?

Stuck in Utah. Work.

What’s he do?

Could be one of those goddamn astronauts for all I know.

She fixed him a look.

He’s a lawyer.

Oh.

Yeah, that’s what I said when Mixie told me.

Mind if I use the bathroom? Harrison said.

Go right ahead, Hal said. You know where it is. Let’s all go in. Gracie, there’s a bunch of folks in here dyin to see you again.

Wish me luck, she said to Harrison.

Hal pushed her through the door to the living room and a cheer went up from inside.

Jesus, Harrison said to himself, and went upstairs to use the john.

By the time Harrison joined his wife downstairs she was on her second glass of Hal’s lemon, nutmeg and honey-palm hot toddy, stuck by the sofa with cousin Dave. Harrison smiled and looked around for a drink of his own.

Anyone seen Kevin? Hal said, over the noise.

Yonder, Tom, another of Hal’s employees, said from the window. Saw him go into the barn not ten minutes ago.

There was a cry; a rough and throaty noise from outside. The men looked at each other and the women looked at the men and the men turned to Hal, who put down his drink and moved quickly from the room. They followed him outside. The air was cold and the sod was hard and frosted. Kevin came out of the barn and yelled something to them. Harrison couldn’t make it out. They picked up their pace. Kevin had blood on his shirt. He came over to them.

What happened? Hal said. Are you all right?

One of the foals is dead, he said. Looks like a coyote done it; don’t know how the sumbitch got in though.

Shit, Hal said. Shit. Those fuckers.

This happened before, Hal? one of the other men said.

Never, Kevin said. Not in the barn. Maybe a coupla times, out in the pasture, sure; but sheep, sometimes cattle. Never a foal. Never a foal.

Okay, Hal said. Let’s attend to her. We can work out what to do later. Fellas?

The men walked to the barn. Harrison hesitated at the door.

Jim? Hal said. You okay?

Harrison nodded. It started to snow. He waited outside while the men took care of it.

Inside this trim, modest suburban home is Annie Glenn, wife of astronaut John Glenn, sharing the anxiety and pride of the entire world at this tense moment but in a way that only she can understand.

Grace snorted a worn indignation from the sofa.

One thing has prepared Annie Glenn for this test of her own courage and will sustain her and that one thing is her faith …

Nancy Bloom stood on the Glenn front lawn in Arlington. She held the microphone close to her glossy lips. In the background, the living room curtains were closed. Around her, a steel city had been erected, founded by television people.

Jesus, Harrison said, sitting next to his wife. Why are they reporting from the Glenns’ front yard?

 …
faith in the ability of her husband, her faith in the efficiency and dedication of the thousands of engineers and other personnel who provide his guidance system and her faith in Almighty God.

Light the candle already, Harrison said. I bet that slimy Texan sonofabitch is sitting round the corner in a limo waiting to shake her hand in front of those news crews.

CBS turned to Cronkite in the studio. Harrison stood and switched to NBC.

We should have popcorn, he said.

It was late February. Thousands of people crowded the Cape, waiting to see the first American orbit the Earth. Shepard might have been first up, but there was something about
orbiting the Earth
that reached deep inside people; people who were afraid. Everybody stared at the Atlas rocket as it sat, quivering, on the pad. Then came a terrific rumble and the Atlas left the pad and Glenn left the Earth. Harrison drank his beer and thought, Glenn’s got his hatch and Glenn’s got his window. Hell, some people were even calling him the pilot. Well, good for him. That was the way it should be. The Seven still weren’t doing much actual flying, but at least they had a decent view now.

Grace got up and left the room. Harrison pulled his cigarettes from his pocket. He stuck one in his mouth and lit it and waved the match until it went out.

Who knows what’s out there, Herb,
Al Mann, one of the reporters, said.
This is just the beginning.

Harrison sat forward and sucked hard on his cigarette.

John Glenn is about to enter the heavens,
Herb said
. Since mankind first walked upon the Earth and gazed up at the night sky, he has wondered.

The rocket rolled. Harrison stared at the screen.

Ahead lies the great tapestry of Creation
, Herb said.

The face of God
, Harrison thought. He blew smoke at the floor.

Glenn slid into low orbit. The g-forces fell away. Glenn floated.

Oh! That view is tremendous.

Harrison stepped outside. He pulled on the end of his beer. Above him, the sky went on forever. Somewhere up there, Glenn soared.

Harrison dropped the cigarette onto the porch and went back inside and shut the door.

I’m just thankful I live in the same world as John Glenn
, a voice said from the television. On the sofa, Harrison reached for another cigarette. The voice continued,
In him we have a fearless protector.
Harrison stopped. He looked up. He stared at the reporter.

This is an NBC special news report brought to you by the Gulf Oil Corporation.…

Harrison felt something, but didn’t know what. The pack of Lucky Strikes in his hand was empty. There was a fresh pack by his bed. He got up and wondered where Grace was. He went upstairs and stopped dead. Grace sat against the shut door of the empty bedroom, eyes fat with tears. She looked up at him and he felt the air leave his lungs and his heart lurch. He stumbled into the bathroom and shut the door. His face was wet. It tasted like the sea. He wiped his forehead, his temples, his chin; his heart was trying to bust out of his rib cage like an inmate during a prison riot. He gripped the sink and knew fear. Grace was on the other side of the door. Then she was on the stairs. Then she was in the kitchen. Something dropped away, and his hammering heart settled. He sat down on the floor. He was dizzy. His pulse slowed. His breathing grew shallow. He was exhausted. He sat in the bathroom for a long time. Then he washed his hands and went downstairs and saw John Glenn waving from the deck of the
Noa
.