‘Sure,’ I said.
‘Then you’ll have paid me back,’ he said, returning to the stove.
I took another sip from the tea. Jerry was on the other side of the table, tongue sticking out from his mouth at an angle, drawing something on paper. I said to Stewart, ‘You mentioned something about the radio. What’s going on?’
‘Depends on what station you listen to. The local stations, most of ‘em run by the militia or their friends, say the UN and NATO violated the armistice agreement and it is now defunct. Now, defunct. That’s a hell of a word. Didn’t think most militia types could use such a word. The local stations, run by what’s left of the state government and the UN, they don’t say much, just to stay in your homes and listen to the responsible authorities. But when the weather’s right I get the BBC World Service, late at night.’
I rubbed the tea mug, enjoying the warmth on my fingers. ‘What does the BBC say?’
Stewart reached up to a cabinet door, opened it and took out three thick white plates. ‘The BBC—and, man, I do like hearing their voices, they sound so civilized — anyhow, the BBC says that the armistice with the militia units has broken down in some counties in Michigan, New York, Vermont and New Hampshire but seems to be holding on in Texas, Idaho, New Mexico, Kentucky and Tennessee. Most other states are still quiet, the ones not really hurt by the bombings. And nobody’s too sure when the armistice might be up and running again.’
From outside I could hear a thrumming noise, which seemed to get louder and louder. Helicopters. Stewart stopped his work and looked up, a spatula in his large hand. Jerry stopped drawing and his eyes grew wide as he looked up at the ceiling. In the corner Tucker even whimpered some. The vibration from the helicopters’ engines made the dishware rattle as they flew overhead. I thought briefly of racing outside and waving a dish towel or something to attract their attention but I knew how fast they flew: they’d be over the horizon by the time I found the door.
Then the sound drained away. Jerry picked up his pen and Stewart looked over at me.
‘I guess the armistice won’t be up and running again today,’ I said.
‘I guess you’re right,’ Stewart said.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The late breakfast was eventually served: scrambled eggs again—and I sure as hell wasn’t complaining—with a sausage link apiece and toast made from homemade bread. We ate quickly and Stewart raised his voice only once, when Jerry tried to give a piece of his solitary sausage to the dog.
‘Jerry, that sausage is special. It’s been in the freezer for months, and I’ll be goddamned if a dog is going to eat it, even if it is Tucker,’ Stewart said. ‘Now, you go ahead and eat, so you can grow up and be strong. And don’t pout.’
And the little guy didn’t pout, just held on to his fork with a pudgy fist and kept on eating. His eyes were shiny and I had a feeling that he and his grandfather had this dog-eating-from-the-table discussion on a regular basis.
The food was hot and went down quickly. I had another cup of tea and when we were finished eating Stewart said quietly, ‘Now, you go and clean up, and go into the living room. All right?’
Jerry looked over his empty plate. ‘Can I watch TV?’
‘Only if you turn on the VCR and run a tape,’ Stewart said.
‘Which one?’
‘How about The jungle Book?’
Jerry nodded enthusiastically. ‘Yep. I’d like that.’
He got up, cleared the dishes and placed them by the sink. When he was done, he said, ‘Tucker,’ and the English springer spaniel followed him. Stewart leaned back in his chair to catch what was going on in the living room. He lowered his voice. ‘Just want to make sure he’s watching a tape,’ he explained. ‘I don’t want him watching the tube in case one of the militias is running things for a day or so on one of the local cable stations. The crap they put out over the airwaves… You know, racist warfare, the Protocols of the Elders of Zion, white power, red state versus blue state… Bad enough things are happening on the ground, then the clowns who seize the television stations have to pollute the airwaves again.’
‘I see,’ I said, sipping from the tea mug.
‘You do, do you?’ Stewart asked skeptically. ‘Tell me, Toronto man, what exactly were you doing, working for the UN?’
I tried to gauge his expression, what was going on in his mind, and decided to hell with it. ‘I was assigned to an investigation unit, looking into war-crime sites. We were investigating allegations around this county and others.’
‘Find much?’
‘A little,’ I said.
‘Bah, whole place is one whole war crime, if you ask me. So, Canadian man that you are, what do you think of our poor misguided country?’
I said, ‘I’m not sure I can really answer that.’
‘Oh, give it a try,’ Stewart said. ‘I read the papers, watch the news. I know that you nice folks up north have always had a strange relationship with us Yanks. Who could blame you? Here we are, overbearing and powerful and full of ourselves, and there you were, peaceful and trying to choose a path that didn’t involve our rough-and-tumble way of doing things. Bad enough to have our kind of nation as a neighbor. When that terrorist attack hit Manhattan late last year and then came the follow-up balloon bombings… it was the tipping point. Hard to believe that one coordinated strike would cause all this chaos, even with that damn EMP effect…’
‘Up north, although we didn’t get zapped like you people did, it was hard to understand what was going on,’ I said. ‘The news coverage was spotty and all we heard were the worst of the stories. Exodus from the cities… lack of food and fuel… refugees being shot at by the militias…’
Stewart looked like he wanted to slam a fist on the table. ‘Damn it, we had years of warning. We should have been prepared for all types of attacks, but we never are. Never prepared for a boatful of explosives motoring its way up to a moored warship. Or some guys armed with box-cutters and knives, flying planes into buildings. Or some group stealing suitcase nukes and detonating them to fry all our electronics. The population looks to its leaders and their leaders fail them, and then the poor, scared, frightened people take matters into their owns hands. But then again, people… sometimes they get the government they deserve, you know?’
‘That’s what I’ve heard,’ I said.
He gave me a wry smile. ‘You see, a few years back I worked on the planning board for our little town here. I’d retired from a machine shop and thought I’d give something back to the community. You know? And you know what happened after that?’
I rubbed a finger around the rim of the tea mug. ‘What’s been said before: “No good deed goes unpunished.’”
A firm nod. ‘Absolutely right, Samuel. A little job like the planning board, making sure any new construction comes in and follows the rules. And you’d have thought I was wearing jackboots and a peaked hat with a goddamn swastika on top. We had people coming into meetings, screaming and yelling, I got hate mail and I got phone calls at midnight, wanting to know why I was giving my neighbors a hard time about what they could or couldn’t do with their property. I mean, shit, some people thought owning a piece of land gave ‘em the right to store drums of toxic waste on the back forty. So what if it leaked into the ground water, or seeped into a stream that went into a reservoir? Man’s home is his castle, et cetera, and all that crap. So I gave it up, after one term. I’m getting older and I don’t need the aggravation.’