The Passenger (The Passenger, #1)(84)

Where he walked the tideline at dusk the last red reaches of the sun flared slowly out along the sky to the west and the tidepools stood like spills of blood. He stopped to look back at his bare footprints. Filling with water one by one. The reefs seemed to move slowly in the last hours and the late colors of the sun drained away and then the sudden darkness fell like a foundry shutting down for the night.

At daybreak he hiked out through the dunes and up the sandy road to the highway and trudged along the edge of the blacktop looking for dead animals. He skinned them out with a single-edge razorblade and carried the raw unstretched hides to the little grocery store two miles down the road. Raccoon and muskrat. Once or twice a mink. Nutria tails for the bounty. He bought tea and canned milk with the money. Cooking oil. Hotsauce and tinned fruit. He carried home dead rabbits from the road that had not been there the day before and cooked and ate them.

He washed his clothes in the dishpan and hung them to dry over the porch railing. Sometimes they’d blow away down the dunes. On sunny days he’d walk the beach naked. Solitary, silent. Lost. Nights he built fires on the beach and sat there wrapped in his blanket. The moon rose over the gulf and the moon’s path dished and tilted on the water. Birds flew down the beach in the dark. He didnt know what kind they were. He thought about the passenger but he never went back out to the islands. The fire leaned in the wind and seawater hissed in the burning wood. He watched it burn to coals. The embers glowed and faded and glowed and bits of fire hobbled away down the beach into the darkness. He knew that he should wonder what was to become of him.

He’d found an old rod and reel in the shack and he sharpened some rusty number six hooks and baited them with pieces of muskrat and cast them with their half ounce dropper leads far out into the surf.

Raw cold weather. Rain. The old shake roof leaked badly and he had buckets and pans set about the floor everywhere. One night the lightning woke him. A lurid glare in the windowglass and a crack like a rifleshot. He sat up cautiously. The fire in the stove was all but out and it was cold in the room. He sat quietly in the dark waiting for the windows to light up again. There was someone sitting in the chair in the corner.

He lifted the glass chimney from the lamp and took a wooden match from the drawer and struck it along the edge of the table and lit the wick and replaced the chimney and ratcheted down the flame with the little brass wheel. Then he held the lamp up and looked again.

He was much as she’d described him. The hairless skull corraded with the scars perhaps come by at his unimaginable creation. The funny oarlike shoes he wore. His seal’s flippers splayed on the arms of the chair.

Are you alone? said Western.

Jesus, Jonathan. Yeah. I’m alone. Cant stay long. I’m just sort of playing hooky, actually.

You werent sent here to see me.

Nope. Come on me own hook. I was going through my calendar and the date caught my eye.

It’s come and gone before.

True enough.

Why are you here?

Just thought I’d see how you were doing.

How did you know where to find me?

The Kid rolled his eyes. Christ, he said. Is that your question?

I dont know.

We go back a bit. One way or another. Me and thee.

By hearsay. How do I know what to trust?

You dont have a choice. All you can believe is what is. Unless you’d prefer to believe what aint. I’d have thought we might be past all that by now.

I’m not past anything.

Yeah, well. Probably cant help you there. Anyway, I was in the neighborhood. You’re a little different from what I expected.

How is that?

I dont know. A bit down at the heel. How long you been out here?

A while.

Yeah? Not the most luxurious of digs.

He looked around the room. He covered a yawn with one flipper. Been a long day. Not easy dealing with these rimrunners. Dementia in absentia. Well, best not to open that kettle of fish.

Can of worms.

That either. Anyway, I suppose we all bear some responsibility for Sis. Some more than others of course. Still it’s hard to think of her as just some sort of experiment. Watcha think?

What do you think?

Cool under pressure. I like that. So where do we go from here? Oh boy oh joy.

Lightning lit the room again. Christ, said the Kid. Does it storm like this all the time out here? I just thought you might have the odd query or two. You can jump in anytime. I’m working off the books.

What makes you think I would trust you?

I wish you could hear yourself.

Western didnt answer. The Kid sat studying his nonexistent nails. Yeah, well. Now his feelings are hurt. He thinks he’s bright. You think you’re bright, Kurtz?

No. I did once. I dont anymore.

Good. You just got brighter. We may have a chat after all.

What makes you think I want to chat?

Cut the crap. Like I said, we dont have a lot of time. How did you wind up out here anyway?

The place belongs to a friend.

Some friend. You got no electricity?

No.

Toilet?

No.

The lightning flared again. The Kid was sitting slightly sideways in the chair. Well, he said. Could be worse. Some folks are surprised that you’re still around at all.

Yeah. Me too. At times.

I suppose even if you’re off the board you might still get to sit around and see how the game turns out.