The men all moved to the railing. A quarter-mile away Langley’s men moved to their own railing. The air was still, and there was no other sound. There was My Wild Irish Rose, and there was the twilight, and that was all.
Then the dogs started howling. One by one, their song beginning as a low moan, they lifted their snouts to the darkening sky. Soon they worked themselves up, and the noise became high-pitched and frenzied. The men turned from the railing. They were angry. They looked as if they wanted to stride out into the roadway and start kicking left and right.
But suddenly the dogs stopped howling and started to bark. There was something at the north end of the bridge. The men who had set their spears aside picked them up. The guards formed a line across the bridge. Five people were coming up the north slope, three women and two men. Two of the women and one of the men were old, and the remaining man walked with a limp, but they were approaching quickly. Each carried a large black plastic bag. The old woman at the front had a sword.
“It’s Megan” said Frost.
King stopped barking first, then the other dogs. My Wild Irish Rose was also done. Frost let King trot down the bridge to greet Megan, who patted his back soundly. When the group drew close Frost said “It’s late to be traveling south, Megan. It’s late to be traveling anywhere.”
She said “I enjoyed that bag of squash, Frost. What did you think of that picture?”
Oak said “What picture?”
Newton said “You got a picture, Frost?”
Frost said “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”
Megan said “We don’t want to stay in Town no more. It’s too hard. Hard to get food, hard to get fuel. And that Langley’s got his men prowlin’ around everywhere. Me and these folks want to come and live on your farm. We’re all fit and we can all pull our weight.”
Tyrell was standing beside Frost. He turned from Megan and looked at Frost and said “We got Wing’s crew already. Where we going to get the extra food?”
Frost did not acknowledge him. He said “Marpole will take you down.”
Megan said “No, you need all your men here in case. We’ll find your farm. Your farm ain’t hard to find. Thank you, Frost.” She extended her hand, and Frost shook it. The others in the group also shook his hand. Megan cast a hard glance at Tyrell, but Tyrell had walked away to spit over the railing. The arrivals headed down the south slope.
The sun had gone down. There was a dense orange sunset, and a cold evening was taking shape. Tyrell turned suddenly and took a few quick strides to where Frost was. He made no attempt to damper his voice. “We don’t got enough spuds, Frost. What the hell are you doin’? The domicile is full. If we try to help everybody, nobody ain’t going to make it to next harvest.”
Frost said “People will double up in the rooms. There’s lots of rabbits. We’ll kill a cow if we have to. We don’t turn people away.” He was not looking at Tyrell but toward the south end of the bridge. He waved.
In the thickening dusk four people were walking up the bridge from that end. They stopped to converse briefly with Megan’s group, then came on again. Noor, Will and Wing were carrying pots by wire handles. Granville had a black bag slung over his shoulder. Frost smiled and walked down to meet them.
He said to Noor “Did you send soup for Pender over at Little Bridge?”
She answered “It’s done.”
“Rabbit for his dog?”
“Shit.”
“Better take some from the bag.”
The loose dogs suddenly raced toward them.
The sparse patches of Granville’s hair had been cut short. His face was less skull-like, and he had gained a little weight. He wore wool, not polyethylene. But as the dogs yapped and leapt up and clawed at his black bag and snapped at one another Granville hollered in fear and danced around the roadway with the dogs rioting all around him. There was distant laughter from Frost’s men.
Frost walked along with the group but waited until he was back at the crest of the bridge before he said to Noor, more loudly than necessary “When you go back take Amber some soup. And see if she’s all right alone there on that barge. There’s room with us if she wants to come.”
17
A frigid breeze rushed up the stairwell, moaning faintly. At the first floor landing Frost set down a bucket of water and flexed and shook his right arm and then transferred a near-empty pot of soup and a burning cattail from his left to his right hand and picked up the bucket in his left hand and continued up the stairs. A quirk of the moving air twisted the smoke from his torch into his eyes, and he had to blink and look away, but he did not change the steady pace of his ascent.
He stopped again at the next landing. There was no door in the entrance to the corridor. Someone was singing. Old Brandon. Somewhere out there in the pitch black corridor old Brandon was crooning “…and I say to myself…” He was coming closer. Frost slid the bucket of water away from the doorway and stepped back. “…it’s a wonderful world….”
A man lurched into the stairwell. There was a torn wool garment, flying white hair and clotted beard, a nose like a mangled spud, and a blast of hooch breath. He acknowledged Frost only with a glance of bloodshot eyes. Frost said “I’m taking your hooch off you, Brandon. I’m getting it on the way down.”
“No you ain’t. ‘Cause it’s all in my gut.”
“God damn you. Here, take my torch. You’ll fall and break your neck.”
But Brandon was already hurtling down the pitch black stairs with loose, weaving steps, fading out of Frost’s light. “I see trees of green, red roses too….”
Grace was waiting for him in her doorway. With both hands she took the pail of water from him and turned and set it inside the door of her bathroom. Frost took the soup pot with his free hand and stepped quickly across the room, which was lit only by a tiny fire in a metal bucket that sat below the window on some concrete blocks. An inverted white plastic basin above the bucket caught most of the smoke, and a length of four-inch plastic pipe led the smoke out under the sheet of polyethylene that covered her window. Frost dumped his torch into the bucket. There was a length of aluminum scrap beside the fire bucket. With this Frost jabbed at the cattail until most of the fluff was freed. It caught and flared, and the room grew brighter.
Frost said “Better eat it while it’s still warm.”
Grace came with a bowl and a spoon. He said “Just eat it from the pot. Don’t get your bowl dirty.” But she set the bowl on the floor and poured and scraped her soup into it.
The floor of the room was bare concrete. It sloped toward the corridor. There was a mattress by the fire, covered by a large rabbit skin rug, and spread neatly on this was a blanket of sewn-together rags. Grace sat on the mattress, facing down the slope, and ate her soup. Frost eased himself down and sat behind her, leaning sideways and uphill, and held out his hands to warm from the metal fire bucket.
Well before Grace had finished her soup the cattail fluff had burnt up. She set her bowl aside and turned and leaned against Frost. He put an arm around her shoulders. He said “Come down and get warm by the fireplace.”
“I’d rather stay here with you.”
“Bloody peat. Maybe I should’ve got cordwood from the Park Crew.”
“No. Leave the trees.”
They were quiet for some time. He said “That woman who had the amputation — is she all right?”
“Yes. She and her daughter have got Fire’s room. Her name is Salmon.”
“Like the fish.”
“Yes. Did you ever see a salmon?”
“Oh yes. I’ve caught them. I’ve seen many different…. When we were sailing I….” But he stopped and sighed and shook his head slowly and stared at the glow in the bucket.