Now the dog trotted toward them.
Once, Barnes conjectured, its folk had been the familiar gray or black German shepherd; he identified the ears, the muzzle. But now—he waited rigidly as it approached. In his pocket he of course carried a knife; it had protected him many times, but surely this—it would not have done the job, here. He stayed close to the woman, who walked on unconcernedly.
“Hi,” she said to the dog.
Halting before them, the dog opened its mouth and groaned. It was a hideous sound, and Barnes shivered; it sounded like a human spastic, a damaged person trying to work a vocal apparatus which had failed. Out of the groaning he detected—or thought he detected—a word or so, but he could not be sure. Bonny, however, seemed to understand.
“Nice Terry,” she said to the dog. “Thank you, nice Terry.” The dog wagged its tail. To Barnes she said, “We’ll find him a quarter mile along the trail.” She strode on.
“What did the dog say?” he asked, when they were out of earshot of the animal.
Bonny laughed. It irritated him, and he scowled. “Oh,” she said, “my God, it evolves a million years up the ladder—one of the greatest miracles in the evolution of life– and you can’t understand what it said.” She wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry, but it’s too damn funny. I’m glad you didn’t ask me where it could hear.”
“I’m not impressed,” he said, defensively. “I’m just not very much impressed. You’ve been stuck here in this small rural area and it seems like a lot to you, but I’ve been up and down the Coast and I’ve seen things that would make you—” He broke off. “That’s nothing, that dog. Nothing by comparison, although intrinsically I suppose it’s a major feat.”
Bonny told hold of his arm, still laughing. “Yes, you’re from the great outside. You’ve seen all there is; you’re right. What have you seen, Barnes? You know, my husband is your boss, and Orion Stroud is his boss. Why did you come here? Is this so remote? So rustic? I think this is a fine place to live; we have a stable community here. But as you say, we have few wonders. We don’t have the miracles and freaks, as you have in the big cities where the radiation was stronger. Of course, we have Hoppy.”
“Hell,” Barnes said, “phoces are a dime a dozen; you see them everywhere, now.”
“But you took a job here,” Bonny said, eying him.
“I told you. I got into political trouble with little two-bit local authorities who considered themselves kings in their own little kingdom.”
Thoughtfully, Bonny said, “Mr. Austurias was interested in political matters. And in psychology, as you are.” She continued to survey him, as they walked along. “He was not good-looking, and you are. He had a little round head like an apple. And his legs wobbled when he ran; he never should have run.” She became sober, now. “He did cook a delightful mushroom stew, shaggy manes and chanterelles– he knew them all. Will you invite me over for a mushroom dinner? It’s been too long… we did try hunting on our own, but as Mrs. Tallman said, it didn’t work out; we got promptly sick.”
“You’re invited,” he said.
“Do you find me attractive?” she asked him.
Startled, he mumbled, “Sure, I certainly do.” He held onto her arm tightly, as if she were leading him. “Why do you ask?” he said, with caution and a growing deeper emotion whose nature he could not fathom; it was new to him. It resembled excitement and yet it had a cold, rational quality to it, so perhaps it was not an emotion at all; perhaps it was an awareness, a form of acute intuition, about himself and the landscape, about all things visible about him—it seemed to take in every aspect of reality, and most especially it had to do with her.
In a split second he grasped the fact—without having any data to go on—that Bonny Keller had been having an affair with someone, possibly Gill the tobacco man or even this Mr. Tree or Orion Stroud; in any case the affair was over or leastwise nearly over and she was searching for another to replace it. She searched in an instinctive, practical way, rather than in some starry-eyed romantic school-girl fashion. So no doubt she had had a good many affairs; she seemed expert in this, in the sounding people out to see how they would fit.
And me, he thought; I wonder if I would fit. Isn’t it dangerous? My God, her husband, as she said, is my boss, the school principal.
But then perhaps he was imagining it, because it really did not appear very likely that this attractive woman who was a leader in the community and who scarcely knew him would select him like this… but she had not selected him; she was merely in the process of exploring. He was being tried, but as yet he had not succeeded. His pride began to swim up as an authentic emotion coloring the cold rational insight of a moment before. Its distorting power made itself felt instantly; all at once he wanted to be successful, to be selected, whatever the risk. And he did not have any love or sexual desire toward her; it was far too early for that. All that was involved was his pride, his desire not to be passed over.
It’s weird, he thought to himself; he was amazed at himself, at how simple he was. His mind worked like some low order of life, something on the order of a starfish; it had one or two responses and that was all.
“Listen,” he said, “where is this man Tree?” He walked on ahead of her, now, peering to see, concentrating on the ridge ahead with its trees and flowers. He saw a mushroom in a dark hollow and at once started toward it. “Look,” he said. “Chicken-of-the-forest, they call it. Very delectable. You don’t see it very often, either.”
Coming over to see, Bonny Keller bent down. He caught a glimpse of her bare, pale knees as she seated herself on the grass by the mushroom. “Are you going to pick it?” she asked. “And cany it off like a trophy?”
“I’ll carry if off,” he said, “but not like a trophy. More like a thing to pop into the frying pan with a bit of beef fat.”
Her dark, attractive eyes fixed .themselves on him somberly; she sat brushing her hair back, looking as if she were going to speak. But she did not. At last be became uncomfortable; apparently she was waiting for him, and it occurred to him—chillingly—that he was not merely supposed to say something; he was supposed to do something.
They stared at each other, and Bonny, too, now looked frightened, as if she felt as he did. Neither of them did anything, however; each sat waiting for the other to make a move. He had the sudden hunch that if he reached toward her she would either slap him or run off… and there would be unsavory consequences. She might—good lord; they had killed their last teacher. The thought came to him now with enormous force: could it have been this? Could she have been having a love affair with him and he started to tell her husband or some danm thing? Is this as dangerous as that? Because if it is, my pride can go to hell; I want to get away.
Bonny said, “Here’s Jack Tree.”
Over the ridge came the dog, the mutation with the allegeci ability to speak, and slightly behind it came a haggard-faced man, bent, with round, stooped shoulders. He wore a seedy coat, a city man’s coat, and dirty blue-gray trousers. In no way did he look like a farmer; he looked, Mr. Barnes thought, like a middle-aged insurance clerk who had been lost in the forest for a month or so. The man had a black-smeared chin which contrasted in an unpleasant manner with his unnaturally white skin. Immediately Mr. Barnes experienced dislike. But, was it because of Mr. Tree’s physical appearance? God knew he had seen maimed, burned, damaged and blighted humans and creatures in profusion, during the last years… no, his reaction to Mr. Tree was based on the man’s peculiar shambling walk. It was the walk—not of a well man—but of a violently sick man. A man sick in a sense that Barnes had never experienced before.