The Book of Strange New Things(68)

Peter and Jesus Lover One set off across the scrubland. The other Oasans stayed on site, as though not to alarm the USIC representative with their massed advance, or perhaps in deference to Jesus Lover One as their official go-between.

The grey-robed Oasan who’d come out of the settlement to meet Grainger hadn’t moved from his position near the vehicle. A white cardboard box had been handed over to him, and he held it with all the solemnity of a priest holding a sacrament, even though the box resembled a jumbo pizza carton. He seemed in no hurry to carry it away. If he and Grainger had exchanged any words, the conversation was dormant now, as he stared at Jesus Lover One and Peter traversing the distance between the construction site and the settlement.

Grainger watched too. She was dressed, as before, in her white smock and cotton slacks, with a headscarf loosely draped around her hair and neck. Boyishly proportioned though she was, she appeared bulky next to the Oasan.

‘Who’s that?’ Peter said to Lover One as they drew near.

‘??????????,’ replied Lover One.

‘Not a Jesus Lover?’

‘No.’

Peter wondered if there was any hope for him to learn the Oasan language. Without any English to bind it together, it sounded like a field of brittle reeds and rain-sodden lettuces being cleared by a machete.

‘Have you missed your chance to get a share of the medicine?’

‘Medi??ine for all,’ said Lover One. Peter couldn’t tell if the tone of voice was serenely confident, plaintively indignant or grimly resolute.

The four of them rendezvoused in the shade of the building with the star. The WEL COME had blurred into illegibility now. It could have been the remains of a paint bomb against the wall.

Jesus Lover One bowed to Grainger. ‘I am regre???ful for your lingering long here,’ he said.

‘I’ll try to leave pronto,’ she responded. Despite the wisecrack, she was obviously tense. The engine of her vehicle was still running, in defiance of a USIC sticker on the side window that said CONSERVE GAS, IT’S A LONG WAY TO VENEZUELA.

‘Hello, Grainger,’ said Peter.

‘Hi, how ya doin’?’

Her voice sounded more American than he remembered, like a caricature of Yankeeness. All at once, he missed Bea with an ache that was like a shove in the stomach. It was as though, having endured all this time without her company, he’d promised himself that she would be there to meet him afterwards. The USIC truck should have been a plum-coloured Vauxhall, with Bea standing next to it, waving to him in that unguarded childlike way she had, greeting him in her lovely Yorkshire-inflected voice.

‘Been sleeping under the sky?’ said Grainger.

‘Is it that obvious?’

Her eyes narrowed as she gave him the once-over. ‘Some people tan. Some people just burn.’

‘I don’t feel burnt.’

‘Looked in a mirror lately?’

‘Forgot to bring one.’

She nodded, as if to say That figures. ‘We’ll get some cream onto you in a minute. A bit late for first aid, I guess, but hey . . . ’ She glanced at Jesus Lover One and the other Oasan. ‘Speaking of which, I’ve still gotta do this medicine handover. Uh . . . who am I dealing with here? Which of you do I give the run-down to?’

‘I under?????and more than the other one here,’ said Jesus Lover One. ‘E??plain me the medi??ine of ???oday.’ Then, to his compatriot: ‘??????????, ???? ????????.’

The other Oasan stepped closer, lifted the lid of the box and angled it so that Grainger and Jesus Lover One had access to the contents. Peter kept his distance, but glimpsed lots of plastic bottles and little cardboard packets, a few of them colourfully commercial, the majority identified with machine-printed pharmacy labels.

‘OK,’ said Grainger, pointing to each of the items in turn. ‘We have aspirin and acetaminophen, as usual. These ones here are generics.’

‘Name from where all other name come,’ said Jesus Lover One.

‘Exactly,’ said Grainger. ‘Then there’s ten packets of branded acetaminophen: Tylenol. You’ve had it before. And these blue and yellow packets, Soothers, they’re like candies, but they’ve got some dextromethorphan and phenylephrine – a cough suppressant and nasal decongestant. I mean, I don’t know if you . . . uh . . . ’ She coughed. It was unclear whether she was imitating a cough for the Oasan’s benefit, or whether she genuinely had something stuck in her throat. ‘And this one here is diclofenac. It’s an analgesic too, and an anti-inflammatory, good for arthritis – pain in the muscles and joints.’ She wiggled her elbow and gyrated one of her shoulders, to mime the discomfort of arthritis. ‘Also good for migraines and . . . uh . . . menstrual cramps.’ Grainger’s voice was tainted with despondency. Clearly, she had little faith that her words made any sense to the recipients. She spoke faster and less distinctly as she went on, almost gabbling. Peter had witnessed that sort of behaviour before, in inexperienced or ineffectual evangelists who were trying to win over a hostile audience and sensed they were losing the battle. Mumbled invitations to come along to church sometime, spoken as if to satisfy a watchful God that the invitations had been made, rather than with any real hope that anyone would come.

‘Also, cortisone creams, the ones you like, in the blue and white tubes,’ Grainger went on. ‘And a bunch of antibiotics. Gentamicin. Neomycin. Flucloxacillin. A broad range of uses, as I’ve explained to you before. Depends on the individual. If you ever . . . uh . . . if you’re ever ready to give me some feedback on your experience with a particular antibiotic, I may be able to advise you better.’