"Does drawing and painting make up for not being able to walk?"
Little Will looked toward the kraal. "To her it does." She looked back at the old man. "Mange, one day those bulls are going to be all gone." She felt her eyes moisten. "All gone, Mange, but we'll have May's pictures. It's important to the bullhands; it's important to her."
Mange shook his head and sighed. "Bone Breaker and I must have talked it over a hundred times back with the old show. Damned shame he had to die when Number Two went down." He nodded. "And the records." He looked at Little Will. "If we'd been able to save the records I could've kept track of all those kids with the bent genes. Maybe I could've been prepared..."
"Did you find another one?"
Mange nodded as he rubbed his eyes. "I think so. Wanna and Jimbo from Tarzak. Know them?"
"No."
"She's a wardrober and he's a cashier. They have a son, Mungo. He's twelve years old and he weighs almost three hundred pounds." Mange shook his head. "And not a scrap of fat on him; he's one big muscle." He tapped the side of his head. "Feeble-minded. He can hardly remember anything from one minute to the next. They brought him for glasses. He can't see very well either. Oh." Mange reached into the pocket of his threadbare white coat. "Speaking of glasses; here's Pete's." He held out a small cloth-wrapped bundle. "Now you tell Pete if these aren't exactly right to send them back. Boxcar Bo over in Kuumic has a complete set of diagnostic lenses made up now, and he's made up the eye charts, too. If these aren't right, Butterfingers can make him an accurate prescription next time."
"I'll tell him." Little Will took the bundle and placed it into the pocket of her robe. She withdrew a small pouch, shook a number of copper beads into her hand, counted them, then dropped them into Mange's hand.
Mange looked at the coppers, chuckled, then dropped them into his coat pocket. He nodded toward the kraal. "What about Johnjay? Anything besides telepathy?"
Little Will folded her arms and shook her head. "He can see futures. And he can read minds. He can also move things." She sighed.
"What is it?"
"Mange, he just doesn't do anything with his gifts. Or anything else. When he isn't carrying May around, he's down at the tavern drinking with his friends. He doesn't care about anything else." She held out her arms, then let them drop to her sides. "He can handle the bulls, but he doesn't care. No future, he says." Little Will looked toward the kraal. "The only reason he's up on one now is because May needs a model."
Mange pushed himself to his feet. "Johnjay's generation was born on Momus, Little Will. They're not from our universe." He coughed and shook his head. When his lungs calmed down, Mange looked up at the sky. "I wonder what it will be like a hundred years from now." He looked at Little Will and laughed. "I guess that's not going to be my problem."
Little Will motioned toward her door. "Will you be sharing the evening meal with us? Pete'll be back soon."
Mange shook his head. "My appetite's been off lately. I have to be getting back. If I don't sit on top of him, Waxy won't take his medicine. It's a good thing he has Turtlehead to help him, otherwise I'd never get him to stay in bed." He walked out from under the porch roof, waved a hand then began his slow shamble down the walkway.
"Good-bye." Little Will turned and went through the doorway. "Johnjay."
"Yes, Mother?"
"Bring May in. She's had enough sun, and it's time for dinner." She smiled as she felt Johnjay search her mind trying to discover what was for dinner. "I haven't made up my mind yet, Johnjay. Stop playing and bring May in."
"Yes, Mother."
Little Will moved toward the window and watched as Johnjay slid from Reg's back, patted the bull's cheek, then went over to his sister. May looked up at her brother, quickly drew a few more lines, then tucked away her charcoal and held out her arms. Johnjay wrapped the blanket around May's legs, then placed his arms behind her back and beneath her legs and lifted her.
Little Will's gaze moved from her twins to Reg and the five other remaining bulls. Too old to work the roads or to travel the road to Tarzak for The Season, but without them the bullhands were nothing.
She looked above the window at the gold and mahogany bullhook hanging there, and the angelhair-wood hook hanging next to it. Perhaps Johnjay had been right when he had said that the bullhands already were nothing. Little Will did not sweep the thought from her mind. She placed the thought aside. It was an old companion.
TWENTY-ONE
It was May 29th, the thirty-second year since The Crash. The sun was bright, and Johnjay sat upon the kraal fence. May was in the kraal finishing a drawing, and Johnjay was concentrating upon tying knots in the grass with his thoughts.
Forty miles to the southeast, Arnheim's Fault straightened out a kink, flattening approximately a third of the houses in Tarzak. The shockwave rumbled through the towns of Tieras and Porse, then hit the Town of Miira. The vibration was something more to be felt than heard. Johnjay looked toward Miira's square as he felt the kraal fence moving beneath him. The few people in the square stood silently, looking upward. The rumble of the ground grew much louder.
"Johnjay!" He turned at the sound of his sister's cry.
"May!" No sooner had he uttered her name, three of the spooked bulls trampled her. "May! May!"
When he reached her side, she was unrecognizable. The blood was in his eyes, hell in his thoughts, as he looked up at the rampaging pachyderms near the edge of the cliff.
That evening Johnjay stood in the center of the Miira Ring. The people of Miira moved silently into the blues, but Johnjay did not see them. He saw only his mother, Little Will. She stood a few paces away, her left side toward him, her arms folded and her head bowed. Beneath her left arm was the mahogany-handled, gold-tipped bullhook. Shiner Pete walked into the Ring and stood silently between mother and son. Pete studied Johnjay until his son turned away and looked at the blues. They were all there: teamsters, bullhands, cashiers, newstellers, riders, merchants. Turtlehead and his three apprentice priests took their places in the blues. Great Waxy would not sit with them, for his job was in the Ring.
Johnjay closed his eyes. "Mother, what I did was right!" The thought was sent, but refused. He bit at the inside of his lip until he tasted blood.
The sounds of motion stopped, and Johnjay opened his eyes. He blinked until the scene was no longer distorted by tears. He turned and saw the priest Waxy holding his book. Great Waxy's usually jolly face was hidden by his priest's hood. The shadow cast by the hood made him look headless for a moment—the ghostly dispassionate recorder of the town's judgement. Waxy's deep voice filled the Ring. "Who starts?"
Little Will lifted her head. "I will."
A man wearing the grey and maroon of the bullhands stood in the blues. "You are his mother."
Little Will unfolded her arms and pointed her bullhook at the man. "Lizard Bait, I am also Master of the Bulls. It is my place to speak for the bullhands."
Lizard Bait looked around the Ring for support, but found none. He resumed his seat. Waxy nodded toward Little Will. "Go on. You've got the ball."
She lowered her arms and let the bullhook hang down from her right hand. She turned completely around, looking at the faces in the blues, stopping when she faced Johnjay. She pointed the bullhook at her son. "Johnjay killed the five bulls Gonzo, Twinkie, Peg, Molly, and Lady. If I hadn't been able to control Reg, he would have killed Reg, as well. He drove them over the cliff behind the fence." She turned from Johnjay and faced the blues. "I saw this."