The Passenger (The Passenger, #1)
Cormac McCarthy
It had snowed lightly in the night and her frozen hair was gold and crystalline and her eyes were frozen cold and hard as stones. One of her yellow boots had fallen off and stood in the snow beneath her. The shape of her coat lay dusted in the snow where she’d dropped it and she wore only a white dress and she hung among the bare gray poles of the winter trees with her head bowed and her hands turned slightly outward like those of certain ecumenical statues whose attitude asks that their history be considered. That the deep foundation of the world be considered where it has its being in the sorrow of her creatures. The hunter knelt and stogged his rifle upright in the snow beside him and took off his gloves and let them fall and folded his hands one upon the other. He thought that he should pray but he’d no prayer for such a thing. He bowed his head. Tower of Ivory, he said. House of Gold. He knelt there for a long time. When he opened his eyes he saw a small shape half buried in the snow and he leaned and dusted away the snow and picked up a gold chain that held a steel key, a whitegold ring. He slipped them into the pocket of his huntingcoat. He’d heard the wind in the night. The wind’s work. A trashcan clattering over the bricks behind his house. The snow blowing out there in the forest in the dark. He looked up into those cold enameled eyes glinting blue in the weak winter light. She had tied her dress with a red sash so that she’d be found. Some bit of color in the scrupulous desolation. On this Christmas day. This cold and barely spoken Christmas day.
I
This then would be Chicago in the winter of the last year of her life. In a week’s time she would return to Stella Maris and from there wander away into the bleak Wisconsin woods. The Thalidomide Kid found her in a roominghouse on Clark Street. Near North Side. He knocked at the door. Unusual for him. Of course she knew who it was. She’d been expecting him. And anyway it wasnt really a knock. Just a sort of slapping sound.
He paced up and back at the foot of her bed. He stopped to speak and thought better of it and paced again, kneading his hands before him like the villain in a silent film. Except of course they werent really hands. Just flippers. Sort of like a seal has. In the left of which he now cradled his chin as he paused and stood to study her. Back by popular demand, he said. In the flesh.
It took you long enough to get here.
Yeah. The lights were against us all the way.
How did you know which room it was?
Easy. Room 4-C. I foresaw it. What are you using for money?
I’ve still got money.
The Kid looked around. I like what you’ve done with the place. Maybe we can tour the garden after tea. What are your plans?
I think you know what my plans are.
Yeah. Things dont look too promising, do they?
Nothing’s forever.
You leaving a note?
I’m writing my brother a letter.
A wintry summary I’ll wager.
The Kid was at the window looking out at the raw cold. The snowy park and the frozen lake beyond. Well, he said. Life. What can you say? It’s not for everybody. Jesus, the winters are confining.
Is that it?
Is what it.
Is that all you have to say?
I’m thinking.
He was pacing again. Then he stopped. What if we packed up and just skedaddled?
It wouldnt make any difference.
What if we stayed?
What, another eight years of you and your pennydreadful friends?
Nine, Mathgirl.
Nine then.
Why not?
No thank you.
He paced. Slowly rubbing his small scarred head. He looked like he’d been brought into the world with icetongs. He stopped at the window again. You’ll miss us, he said. We’ve come a long way together.
Sure, she said. It’s been just wonderful. Look. This is all beside the point. Nobody’s going to miss anybody.
We didnt even have to come, you know.
I dont know what you had to do. I’m not conversant with your duties. I never was. And now I dont care.
Yeah. You always did think the worst.
And was seldom disappointed.
Not every ectromelic hallucination who shows up in your boudoir on your birthday is out to get you. We tried to spread a little sunshine in a troubled world. What’s wrong with that?
It’s not my birthday. And I think we know what it is you’ve been spreading. Anyway, you’re not going to get in my good graces so just forget it.
You dont have any good graces. You’re fresh out.
All the better.
The Kid was looking around the room. Jesus, he said. This place really sucks. Did you see what just crossed the floor? What, are we completely out of Zyklon B? You were never exactly Mama’s little housekeeper but I think you’ve outdone yourself here. Time was you wouldnt be caught dead in a dump like this. Are you seeing to your person?
That’s none of your business.
One more in a long history of unkempt premises. Yeah, well. You dont know what’s in the offing, do you? If you’ll pardon the pun. Ever thought about taking the veil? Okay. Just thought I’d ask.
Why dont we just make what amends we can and let the rest go. Dont make it worse than it is.
Yeah yeah sure sure.
You knew this was coming. You like to pretend that I have secrets from you.
You do. Have secrets. Christ it’s cold in here. You could hang meat in this fucking place. You called me a spectral operator.