Olivia came by to see him after the first few spills, given that the fresh lacerations on his forehead required seeing to, and advised him to knock it the hell off. She said things probably wouldn’t remain as bad as all that, but he may discover elevated levels of clumsiness for the foreseeable future.
He made it a point to take a few circuits around the container home every day, always grasping solid objects to anchor his body to the earth, and practiced his modified game of The Floor is Lava. Over the next few days, his improvement was apparent to anyone who came to see him, and his visitors were frequent. But he would remain deaf until the end of his days.
It was when Alan was truly on the path to resuming his former nature—when his predicament seemed less an obstacle and more a challenge—that Alish came to speak with him. Greg had gone for the day, perhaps knowing her intention, and they talked together a long while (longer than would have been necessary, given her need to write down so much of what she had to tell him). They discussed those things that each knew to be true, revealed things the other did not know, and finally absolved each other in ways only they could provide.
A week and a half after the conflict, Gibs decided there was no further reason to delay. He removed those things from Casa de Redneck that he couldn’t live without and found depressingly little. Clothes, his old coffee pot and remaining stores of coffee, rifle, ammunition, a few pairs of boots, the rig and plate carrier, and his Marine coffee cup. He left his collection of newspapers on the counter but took an old, abused copy of the last book George had ever given him; “The Log from the Sea of Cortez.”
He stared at the book, thinking of its first chapter, “About Ed Ricketts.” That had been a hard thing to read. He’d shelved the book after finishing the first part, thinking to himself to avoid any further misery, only to be assailed by George’s pestering every few weeks regarding his progress with the book. Gibs had lied on the matter, shakily offering that yes, he was chugging along and would be ready to discuss it any day. It was a stupid thing to lie about. He could have just said he didn’t want to read the fucking thing and leave it at that. He couldn’t bring himself to do so at the time, for whatever reason, and supposed the weight he felt when he noticed that goddamned thing staring back at him from the shelf was a kind of penance well-earned and dutifully paid.
George was gone, now, and that fucking book remained, staring at him and waiting. He stuffed it into an old denim ditty bag atop a pile of socks and yanked the drawstrings closed.
People kept coming out to see him as he loaded up the truck, dragging out long, tortured goodbyes. Davidson insisted on coming along at least a dozen times. Glancing at Rebecca, Gibs reminded him what a colossally idiotic move that would be, given that Gibs’s best feature was his ass and that the goddamned thing was narrow as a ten-year-old boy’s and covered with hair besides. Davidson couldn’t see his way through to the logic; even broke down in tears at the end. Gibs stood back in panic at the sight, intensely uncomfortable by the display, and said, “Jesus, Tom…”
“I know… I know… I’m sorry…” he moaned.
Gibs regarded his friend the way a man of culture might regard fast food. He insisted on being annoyed until finally, his reserve cracked. Feeling his chest constrict, he blustered angrily, and said, “Alright, alright, you fuckin’ homo, come here…”
He hugged his friend, and Tom clutched back at him tightly. They stood in this way for a time—Tom hunched head down while Gibs stood ramrod straight, patting gently at the head of the other. Rebecca approached a moment later and whispered, “I’ll take him now…?”
“Please God,” Gibs muttered.
Gibs watched as she led him back home. Tom seemed to straighten under her touch, and Gibs figured that was good. He cleared his throat, wiped his face when he was sure nobody was looking and continued to say goodbye to the rest. He experienced a similar display with Barbara, Fred, and Oscar, and between hiccups and sighs found he was becoming thoroughly done with the whole fucking mess.
Things became fairly awkward when the goodbyes were finished. The wood engine was still in the process of coming up to temperature; wasn’t making enough syngas to feed the truck’s motor. He had no idea how long it took for the thing to get hopping; it was his first time using one. Having said goodbye already, the others had drifted back to their homes, only to stand in front of doors or on porches to watch him from a distance, as if they now stood on the other side of some invisible barrier. Gibs felt as if he’d been quarantined. Standing there watching them watch him back, he wondered if they felt as much of an urge to call the whole thing off as he did.
He wouldn’t, though. He was committed to the course.
Amanda hadn’t come out to see him, and glaring at her cabin, Gibs decided he wasn’t waiting for the mountain to come to Mohammed. He strode across the grounds, glancing at Jake who sat up on the porch as he went, and knocked at her door. She opened it, nodded, and retreated back to the table. There was a mortar and pestle there; she took these things in hand and began to grind away violently.
“All packed…” Gibs said lamely.
She nodded and continued to grind away.
“What, uh… what you got going there?”
“Some of the old rice. I want to see if I can make something like flour out of it. I don’t know… maybe a kind of bread?”
“Maybe you could start growing wheat? There’s plenty of land.”
“I want bread now. I miss bread.”
Gibs nodded and then, without thought, said, “Well, let me know how that works out.”
She stopped and looked at him.
“Or… you know…”
“Why, Gibs? Why?”
He put his head down. “It’s hard to explain, Amanda.”
“Try me.”
He opened his mouth, but Elizabeth burst from her bedroom before he could speak, saying nothing as she came. When she reached him, she threw her arms around his middle—higher along the ribs than he remembered—and held. Then she pulled him down by the shirt collar and kissed his cheek.
“You’re coming back?” she asked.
“Err… well, I…”
“You’re coming back,” she said. “Do whatever it is and come back. Don’t make me come after you.”
She kissed him again and left the cabin.
“Jesus,” he muttered.
“We all deal in different ways,” Amanda said.
“Hrmph…”
“Are you?”
“What’s that?”
“Are you coming back, Gibs?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Or… fuck, I don’t know, man.”
“Are you running?” she asked in a soft voice.
“Horse shit…”
“Gibs?”
“I got a thing needs doing, Amanda. I’m not gonna discuss it because you’ll probably just tell me I’m an old lunatic. And you’d be right. And I don’t give a good goddamn. I should have done it a long time ago. Should have done before I ever came here.”
Amanda resumed her grinding. “I doubt we would have survived if you had.”
“Maybe,” he allowed. “Maybe. And that’s what kept me around… or so I tell myself. Maybe. But… you people don’t need me here to survive anymore. I guess you’ve moved beyond me, now.”