The Dream Widow, Page 3

  Studying about that good old way

  And who shall wear the robe and crown

  Good Lord, show me the way

  Oh Sisters, let’s walk up

  Let’s walk on the mountain to pray

  Oh Sisters, let’s walk up

  Walk on the mountain to pray

  Both groups of singers traded verses back and forth, the women’s voices steadily coming closer. A line of figures in white dresses appeared from the mist, walking with a measured pace up the mountain. A vanguard of young girls waved yellow handkerchiefs. Badger must have walked in the midst of the group but Wilson couldn’t tell––the ghostly women surrounded her like a herd of sheep around a tottering lamb. Protecting Badger? Wilson pinched himself to avoid an unmanly giggle.

  He rubbed his palms on his brown robe as the women approached and Father Reed straightened the sleeves of his dark blue jumpsuit.

  The group of women stopped in front of Wilson and backed away with bowed heads. Badger stepped forward to the flat granite.

  Following the tribal––not Station––fashion, she wore a crimson dress. The bust and long sleeves were tailored snug, and the knee-length skirt puffed out from her waist like an apple. Tiny flowers and rabbits were embroidered along the high throat, waist, and hem. Badger’s hair had been wound into a pair of tight, black braids and coiled at the back of her head below a blue-and-white spiral of columbine. A stripe of blood-red paint covered her eyes. She held a bouquet of purple flax, buttercup, and white mouse-ear.

  Wilson swallowed. He stepped to his place beside her and almost tripped over his own feet.

  Father Reed held out his hands, palms to the sky.

  “Dear friends. Today we celebrate the coming together of two young people, Ensign Lee Wilson and Airman Bryant Chen, known to many of you as Kira. The love they share was a comfort and strength for both during the tragic events of the summer. They now wish to declare before the village their desire to walk the road of life together.”

  The crowd of villagers clapped vigorously.

  Reed lowered his chin and stared at the two young people. “Are you both standing here of your own free will?”

  “Yes,” they said together.

  “Wilson, do you wish to spend the rest of your life with Kira? To protect her with your life and love her with your heart, in sickness or in health, forsaking all others?”

  “I do.”

  “Kira, do you wish to spend the rest of your life with Wilson? To protect him with your life and love him with your heart, in sickness or in health, forsaking all others?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Reed took a midnight-blue box from his robe and opened the top. “Instead of the traditional gifts, Wilson has requested that you exchange these bracelets. Take one and place it around the left arm of your partner.”

  After the pair squeezed their wrists through the silver bands Reed placed his hands on their shoulders.

  “Let these symbols bind your hearts forever and remind you of the promise made before each other, the village, and most importantly, before God. Two have become one, and let no man separate them. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, I declare you husband and wife.”

  The crowd cheered and threw sprays of buttercup and yarrow in the air. Wilson held the red-faced Badger around the waist and kissed her.

  SURROUNDED BY CONGRATULATIONS and happily gossiping villagers, the newlyweds walked hand-in-hand down the mountain toward Station.

  Badger lifted her wrist and watched the delicate pattern on the bracelet shine in the morning sun.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Badger smiled. “Nothing. It’s wonderful––where did you find it? This doesn’t look like tribal jewelry.”

  “It’s wedding present from Jack,” said Wilson. “In the old days they traded rings so I thought, why not?”

  “Good choice. But this is from Jack? It’s not going to blow my arm off or anything?”

  “Would I do that to you? Don’t worry, it’s just a bracelet.”

  Village girls had transformed the circular stone plaza at the center of Station into a bright wedding festival. White and pink ribbons fluttered from wooden poles on the perimeter of the circle. Packs of children played around the poles and ran laughing through the crowd of hundreds of celebrating villagers. Food and drink lay on wooden tables covered in yellow cloth. The traditional sweet cornbread made by Badger and Wilson’s mother the night before had been cut into square sections and covered with blackberry syrup. Wilson’s venison had been added to a carrot-and-potato soup and supplemented by several roasted wild boar. A tea had been brewed from dried dandelion leaves and hawthorn berries.

  An older man in tribal leathers and with a tan, bearded face approached Wilson and Badger. He bowed.

  “Congratulations to both of Your Graces. To Kira, the most beautiful. And to you, Wilson savisto.”

  Wilson smiled. “Thank you, Yishai. But you don’t have to call us that.”

  “I know. It’s simply a habit from your father–”

  Wilson jerked up his palm and looked left and right through the crowd.

  Badger stared at him, wide-eyed. “You still haven’t told her?”

  “Let’s not talk about it.”

  “Suits me. I just want to take off this stupid dress.” Badger pulled at the tight red fabric squeezing her chest.

  “Patience, dear,” murmured Wilson.

  Badger slapped his arm. “Not for that reason!”

  Wilson grinned and turned to Yishai. “Chefa, we haven’t talked recently. How are your people faring here in Station?”

  Yishai watched the eating and chattering crowd around them. “What can I say? Mothers without sons, sons without fathers. We are grateful to you, Wilson savisto, for bringing us here, and for letting us stay. But when you’ve lost so much, it cannot be fully healed.”

  Wilson nodded. He watched a group of teenagers at the edge of the celebration. Many of the citizens of Station celebrated in white or blue clothing, but these young men wore brown hemp trousers and jackets with the white cross of David.

  Wilson pointed his chin. “Any more problems with those boys?”

  Yishai shrugged. “Not in recent days. Too few of us survived the flight from David, and the shock has been especially hard on the young people. It will take time for many of us to feel happy again, even with this new beginning.”

  All three turned at a hoarse bark. The crowd parted and a hideous dog trotted toward Wilson.

  The black fur was patched with mange. The skin was exposed in furry divots and mottled with liver spots and scars. Swollen lumps on his skull and body gave the animal a monstrous, sickly appearance. Wilson rubbed the dog’s floppy ears and a half-missing tail wagged.

  “The beast is disturbing you, savisto. I’ll remove him,” said Yishai.

  A short girl in chestnut braids giggled. “Chefa, you’re so funny!” She stroked the dog’s back. “You can’t forget the dog that saved Wilson’s life.”

  “No, Kaya, I was joking,” laughed Yishai. “It’s hard to forget something this ugly.”

  The girl in braids hugged Badger first, then Wilson. “Congratulations, both of you,” she said.

  “Thank you, Kaya,” said Wilson. “Any disasters in the leather shop lately?”

  A chant from the crowd drowned out Kaya’s response.

  “Speech, speech, speech!”

  Mast climbed onto a chair in the middle of the cheering throng and waved his arms. Wilson groaned.

  “All right! I’ll speak,” said Mast. “Let me tell you a story about my good friend Wilson.”

  The crowd cheered and Mast waved his arms again.

  “You think Wilson is a genius now, but he used to sleep during his lessons. One time Father Reed asked a question: ‘Who created Heaven and Earth?’ I poked Wilson in the ribs with a stick and he yelled ‘Jesus Christ Almighty!’ Father Reed was pleased. The next day he fell asleep again. Father Reed asked, ‘Who died and ro
se again?’ I jabbed Wilson and again he yelled, ‘Jesus Christ Almighty!’ ‘Correct again,’ said Father Reed. The next day Wilson fell asleep again, the third time in a row. Reed asked both of us, ‘What did Eve say to Adam after having so many children?’ I poked Wilson with the stick and he screamed, ‘Stick that thing in me one more time and I’ll break it in half!’”

  Half the villagers groaned while the other half roared with laughter.

  “I wish I could say that story was a lie,” said Mast. “But the truth hurts.”

  He waved his arms until the boisterous crowd was quiet.

  “To be serious, I owe these two everything. If they hadn’t rescued Mina I’d be single and ten pounds thinner. Hello, baby!”

  A blonde girl waved from the edge of the plaza.

  “They’ve been through a lot during the last few months. All of us have, especially our friends from David.”

  Mast looked down. “Today reminded me of the last time we were all together like this. Mina and I were married at David–”

  Wilson felt his stomach twist.

  “–by Wilson’s father.”

  “No!” yelled Wilson, but he was too far from Mast.

  “I wish he could have been here––”

  Wilson let go of Badger’s hand and pushed through the crowd to the food tables. His mother stood behind one with a serving spoon in one hand, her eyes as white and round as the full moon.

  “What did he say?”

  “I wanted to tell you,” said Wilson. “But we always–”

  “Tell. Me. What.”

  Mast had stopped talking. Wilson felt the eyes of the crowd smothering him like a thick blanket. He walked around the table and touched his mother’s sleeve.

  “Let’s go somewhere–”

  She pulled away. “No. Tell me now. In front of everyone.”

  Wilson sighed. “Father didn’t die in the ambush nine years ago. He left Station. We found him living in the wastes, helping the people of David survive.”

  “But that village was burned to the ground, so where’s he now?”

  “He was killed by tribals on the way to Springs.”

  “Ridiculous.” She stared at Father Reed, who’d pushed through the villagers and stood next to Wilson. “You lied to me, Alan. You told me he was dead.”

  Reed took a deep breath. “Mary, we thought–”

  She pointed at his nose. “Shut up.”

  His mother walked away. Wilson started to follow but she shoved him back with one hand.

  OVER THE CENTURIES Jack had decorated the garden with bits of his past. He’d transformed the stark white wooden recliner into his old chocolate-colored La-Z-Boy. During his last deployment Joanie had thrown away everything including his chair, but now it lived again. He always liked having the last laugh.

  His motorcycle sat in a corner of the garden. Every day he started it up, even though he had no room to ride. Every month he took the engine apart for a cleaning, even though it didn’t need it.

  Days ... months ... words for those who were awake, not a half-dead machine with a fish-eyed view of life. But if hitting the snooze button means you’re alive, then I guess I’m alive, thought Jack.

  He’d experimented with things he’d never owned in real life––pools, spas, waterfalls. He felt bored and uncomfortable with all of it, like staying in Vegas more than two days.

  Working on his motorcycle calmed him down. And sitting in church.

  A wooden gate faded grey by the sun opened to the congregation hall. A dozen pews lined each side of the aisle. The lacquered blonde wood gleamed in the light of frosted windows. On a raised platform at the far end of the azure-carpeted aisle sat a massive, walnut preacher’s podium. Directly behind were three levels of choir pews in the same lacquered wood. An upright white piano stood in one corner. The wall beside it held a black sign with uneven white letters and a cross. The sign was labeled, “Raccoon Creek Baptist Church” with a list of services and weekly attendance numbers.

  Jack sat in the back pew and bowed his head. The wood of the seat was hard and slick against the seat of his pants.

  “Are you listening? I know you’re out there. It’s Jack.”

  A cotton ball shaped like a unicorn galloped over his bare toes.

  “I’ve never asked for anything. When you stopped talking to me I gave up. I’m sorry about that. Maybe I thought it was my fault, but I need your help now.”

  Leaves rustled and twigs snapped like a truck smashing through a hedge. The walnut doors at the back of the church burst open and a black Labrador trotted in, tongue lolling and covered in brambles. He shook his coat and green, oval leaves flew everywhere.

  Jack scratched the dog on the head. It rolled on the azure carpet, legs in the air, and Jack laughed in spite of himself.

  A measured female voice curled through his mind.

  See? You just need a friend.

  “Parvati?”

  Don’t use that name. I told you before.

  “I knew you’d be back,” Jack said.

  You don’t believe in God. Why did you make this church?

  “None of your business.”

  Lightning flashed in the windows. Seconds later thunder rolled and rain pattered on the roof. As Jack sat quietly in his pew the sound increased to a roar of white noise.

  What happens when it rains cats and dogs?

  Jack shook his head.

  You can step in a poodle.

  The Labrador stood on his hind legs and Jack shook an outstretched paw.

  “I’m dying,” he said.

  Aren’t we all?

  “I’m not joking. You know what happens when I die. Is there another way to control the base? Some kind of backup?”

  Sure there is. Let’s go.

  The church snapped away, replaced by a dim corridor lit by crimson wall panels. Ahead of Jack a solid pile of fallen stone blocked the way. The black dog scrambled and sniffed at the base of the pile.

  “There’s nothing here.”

  You remember the earthquake?

  “Don’t tell me the control room is buried under that rock.”

  All right. I won’t tell you.

  Jack sighed. “What about the reactor? If we’ve still got power, the operating panel has to be good.”

  Not really, dear.

  The corridor snapped into empty space. Jack gasped and stepped back from a deep circular pit. Near the top, a giant, metallic sphere crackled with lightning. The sky-blue energy sparkled from the sphere and coursed in circles of lighting along the smooth walls of the pit to an infinite, disappearing point. A narrow catwalk above Jack crossed the pit and led to a metal cylinder that supported the sphere.

  “The reactor,” he said.

  No, the discharge chamber. Extra power bleeds into the earth from here, and across the catwalk is the backup control panel for the reactor.

  “I’m glad somebody knows what they’re doing,” said Jack.

  You know more than I do about this room.

  “I must have been kicked in the head recently because I can’t remember any of it.”

  Someday you might.

  Daylight and the white walls of the church appeared. Jack covered his eyes from the light.

  “That’s better,” he said.

  Why did you build a church?

  Jack leaned against the smooth side of a pew. “My father was a preacher. I grew up here.”

  Do you feel safe?

  “I don’t know what I feel,” Jack said, his voice rising. “It’s all fake. This place, my feelings, maybe even these memories. I’m just a half-dead old man living in a fish tank. Maybe some long-dead brainiac stuck this in my head like a screensaver. Maybe it’s really his church, and his father. But it doesn’t matter because this place makes me feel better. That’s it and no more.”

  That’s fine with me.

  Parvati began to sing:

  I love to tell the story; more wonderful it seems

  Than all the golden fa
ncies of all our golden dreams.

  I love to tell the story, it did so much for me;

  And that is just the reason I tell it now to thee.

  Jack couldn’t help but join her.

  WILSON LEANED AGAINST the wall of the corridor. All he could hear from his mother’s room was the murmur of Reed’s voice.

  Badger pulled at her puffy crimson skirt with a loud rustle. “At least she stopped breaking things,” she whispered.

  “That doesn’t mean anything.”

  “I really need to wear something normal.”

  “Dear, you can go back to the party. We can handle this.”

  She kissed him and left. A few minutes later Reed came out of the room. He closed the door quietly.

  “How is she?”

  Reed shook his head. “I’ve probably made it worse, but you can go in.”

  Smashed wooden carvings and broken crockery covered the floor. His mother sat in a corner of the bedroom, hair over her face in a mess and eyes staring at the wall.

  Wilson found a broom. He picked up the larger pieces and swept the rest. When he finished, his mother was still in the same corner, with the same blank expression on her face.

  He sat on the floor beside her.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

  His mother shook her head. “I’m not mad at you, Cubbie. You didn’t speak bald-faced lies to me for nine years. You didn’t smile at me for nine years, all the time knowing how stupid I was.”

  “Some of the others knew too, it wasn’t just––”

  “That doesn’t matter. They’re not the leader of this village. They’re not the self-righteous Sunday preacher.”

  Wilson twisted his mouth grimly and nodded. “He lied to me, too, a few months ago when Badger was sick. I had to sneak into the database to find out the truth.”

  “There’s no truth anymore,” said his mother. “Since I was a little girl I was told things by my mother and the priests that were just made up. Now everyone knows the founders were normal people. Their rules and the reasons for living––all fake. Taking the names of founders and their implants, the stories about going to Heaven through the Tombs––all fairy tales for us, the ignorant, silly boys and girls. Is there a single part of my life that isn’t a lie?”