She rolled the window down. “Hey!”
One of them stepped over. “What do you want?”
“When does the bus leave for Boston?”
He looked at his watch. “About ten minutes.”
“Thanks.”
She rolled the window back up and drove on. After a minute or so she parked the car and turned off the motor. They sat in silence.
“You have your ticket money?” Teddy said.
Barbara nodded. She took a deep breath. “I—”
“You know where to catch it?”
On the seat between them Verne stirred. He grunted, moving a little. He lifted his head.
“Verne—” Barbara said. He groaned and turned over, his head in his arms, sinking down into a little bundle, a soft shapeless heap on the seat. She gazed down at him. His knees were pulled up, his shoulders pulled together. A little wadded-up bundle. The little tailor, his glasses falling off, hanging from one ear.
“Come on,” Teddy said. “You’ll miss your bus.” She reached past Barbara and pushed the door open.
Barbara hesitated uncertainly. “Teddy, I—”
“Hurry up. Get out.”
She slid from the seat onto the sidewalk. The pavement was cold. A wind blew about her.
“Good night,” Teddy said. She slammed the car door. The motor came on. The car drove off, down the street, into the darkness. Barbara stood watching it until it disappeared and the sound died into silence.
Some people waiting for the bus observed her with interest, a sailor, a girl, a middle-aged man.
She walked slowly into the depot.
Nine
“What’s the matter?” Carl Fitter asked.
Barbara started, coming suddenly back to the present. She blinked. “What?”
“You were a million miles away.” Carl waved around him. “It’s too nice a day to miss! This is one of the nicest days I can remember. Don’t you think so? There isn’t even one cloud in the sky, unless you count that unimportant little puff over there.”
They went along the path, toward the commissary. “It is nice,” Barbara admitted.
“Look at the towers over there. Like birds of some kind, standing on one foot. They must be abandoned machinery. You usually don’t notice them because of the fog. I’m glad the fog has lifted today. It’s our day to celebrate.”
“Celebrate what?”
“Full and complete possession of all the world.”
“Really?”
“All the world, as far as we know it.” He pointed at the mountains, beyond the Company property. “What do we know of them? They’re not part of my world. Are they part of your world? Like the moon. You can see the moon, but it’s not the same as living with it. How can you believe in something that’s only a sort of painting someone has hung up in the sky? Actually, our world ends before those mountains begin. At the edge of the Company land.”
“Do you believe that?”
Carl laughed, kicking some stones away. “Today I believe a lot of things. Sure, the world ends at that line. And we own every bit of it. It’s ours.”
“Why are you so happy? The weather?”
“Partly. And partly because in a way I’m glad to see all the people gone. Of course—” his face clouded. “Of course, I’ll admit I wasn’t so pleased when I first learned about it. I was just about to go. I had my suitcase under my arm and everything. They didn’t tell me until I was practically getting into the car. It made me feel sort of bad.”
“I can imagine.”
“But that’s all over now. Today I’ve forgotten it. It was yesterday, in the past. Over with.”
“So it doesn’t exist any more?”
“Of course not. How can something exist in the past? Things only exist in the present.” Carl’s face took on a glow of excitement. “Do you know Aristotle’s theory of the actualization of objects? It’s a concept of the gradual developing of things, our view of which—”
“Let’s forget it,” Barbara murmured.
“What?” Carl’s glow darkened to a flush of embarrassment. “Of course. I’m sorry.” His head sank down. He ran on a little way ahead.
But after a minute his good spirits returned.
“Just think!” he cried.
“Of what?”
“Of all our—our wealth.”
“What wealth?”
“The food! The beds! We can sleep everywhere, anywhere, even in the station manager’s home. Most of his stuff is still here, I think. His books, his blankets, his library, his kitchen. It’s all boarded up, but it’s there. All we need is a hammer and crowbar. The yuks won’t know if we take a few little things out. We have a whole week to do it—seven days. Maybe more!”
He danced, leaping up into the air. Finally he became winded and gradually calmed down.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get carried away like that. I guess you must think I’m crazy.”
Barbara had been walking along behind him. She smiled a little. “No. Not crazy. It is a nice day. I— I felt a little like that myself, earlier. When I first woke up and saw the sun streaming into the room.”
Now they were both embarrassed. They walked on in silence, Carl ahead, Barbara plodding along behind. At last the commissary appeared ahead.
Carl turned around, stopping to wait for the girl to catch up with him. “Can I ask you something?”
“What is it?”
“Is Verne an old friend of yours?”
“Why do you want to know that?”
Carl hesitated. “Well, he seems to know you, and you seem to know him, but both of you freeze up when you’re together. And neither of you’ll say anything. Why? What’s the matter? Don’t you like each other? Did something—”
“I’d rather not talk about it,” Barbara said, her voice gruff. “Okay?”
“See? That’s what happens. But I know you’re old friends. I can tell.”
“I wouldn’t say ‘old friends.’ We knew each other, for a while.”
“Before you went to work for the Company?”
“Yes. I came out here without—without knowing that he was here. We were both surprised to see each other. Not that it matters. I haven’t talked to him for years.”
“You talked to him last night.”
“I don’t mean that.”
“Where did you meet each other?”
“For Christ’s sake! Can’t we forget it? Don’t you ever stop talking about things?”
Carl slunk away along the path. “Sorry.”
She hurried and caught up with him. “We can talk about it some other time. Later on.”
“I didn’t mean to make you angry.”
“No, I realize that.”
Suddenly Carl pricked up his ears. His whole expression changed. “Hey! What do I smell? Do I smell somebody cooking something? Verne must have started!”
He ran up the commissary steps, two at a time. Barbara followed after him, feeling some of his excitement They pushed the door open and went inside. Verne was at the stove, squatting down beside it, examining its works. The burners were discharging jets of blue flame. The temperature of the room was beginning to rise.
“Greetings,” Verne murmured.
“What are you doing?”
Verne glanced up at Carl. “Taking a bath.”
“I never realized how hot it gets in here with the stove going,” Barbara said. “Those poor people! That old cook, the fat one. What a time she must have had.”
Verne had put the big frying pan on the burners. The bottom was damp with smoking grease. Carl peered down at it with interest. “What’s this for?” he asked.
“Pancakes.”
“I wish we were going to have waffles.” Carl found the sack of flour. “This is for waffles, too. Besides just pancakes.” He waited hopefully.