“All you’d have to do is cooperate,” Frank said. “Just tell the writers, or whoever, exactly what happened. And they’ll write it down, and it’ll be a book or a movie.”
“I can be famous,” Jason said, “but I can’t see my girlfriend.”
“I said we’ll see.” Irritation was beginning to creep into Frank’s voice. “The point is,” he went on, “there is some real money here. It will go into trust for you, and pay for your education. This is a terrific break for you.”
“Great,” Jason said.
Frank looked at him severely. “I thought you’d be more excited,” he said. “Don’t you understand how colossal this is?”
“I’ve been shot,” Jason said, “I’ve been beat up, and I’ve come hundreds of miles in a little boat with the whole world trying to kill me. I’ve fallen in love with a beautiful girl. Movies and books just aren’t very exciting right now. I’m sorry.”
Frank looked at him for a moment. Then his lips tightened. “It’s that Nick Ruford’s fault,” he said. “He put you through this. I’m going to talk to some of the litigators at the firm. We’ll sue him naked.” Jason looked at his father. “If you do that,” he said. “I’m testifying for Nick.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Frank said. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jason rose from the bed. “I’m going to go say good-bye to my friends,” he said. “I’ll see you at the helicopter later.” He reached under his cot, pulled out the Astroscan. “This is all I’ve got,” he said. “Could you hold onto it for me?”
Frank looked at the battered red telescope in surprise. “What is it?” he said.
“It’s the birthday present Una sent me,” Jason said. “But don’t worry,” he added as Frank turned pale,
“she signed your name.”
“So,” Jessica said as she looked, with her one good eye, at the message from Bill Marcus, the President’s political consultant, “you think I should call him back?”
“That depends on whether you want to run for office,” said Pat. He was reclined as far as possible in a chair by Jessica’s bed, and he picked repeatedly at a mandolin as he twisted at the tuning pegs.
“Do I want to run for office?” Jessica asked.
“If you think,” Pat said, “that I’m going to play folksy tunes at your rallies and otherwise behave like a buffoon, you can think again.”
Jessica frowned and touched the bandage over her left eye. She’d had an operation that morning, a much more elaborate procedure than she’d undergone with the laser. Instead of cooking the interior of her eye with a laser, this time her eye had played host to a freezing probe that had chilled her eye tissue and, it was hoped, returned it to its normal position.
She was now at home in a semi-darkened room. She had been told to lie with her head on two pillows and avoid straining at bowel movements for at least six months.
She planned to be back at her desk in the morning. Perhaps she would wear a dashing Moshe Dayan eye patch.
Army troops were firmly in control of Spottswood Parish. The place had also been flooded by Justice Department investigators, all now in the process of mortally offending the locals with their earnest Yankee tactlessness.
It was beginning to look as if those responsible for the Spottswood Parish massacres were truly dead. Even David Paxton, the sheriff’s son, who according to some of the chronologies might have set off the whole thing. He had got across the bayou and was walking south, but he’d run into the main body of the A.M.E. evacuees, who had also crossed the bayou at night and were heading in the same direction. David had been shot dead on the spot, and there were about ten people who claimed the honor of killing him.
The person Jessica most wanted to talk to was the swamp hermit known as Cudjo. But that strange man hadn’t been evacuated with the others: as the helicopters came in to carry the others away, Cudjo had faded back into the bayous and swamps that were his home. Perhaps he was just shy, but there was a story that a warrant was out for the man in another part of the state, and that he’d slipped away from the law. In any case, Jessica doubted that Spottswood Parish would ever see him again. Jessica looked at Bill Marcus’s message again, then sighed and held out the piece of paper to Pat.
“Dial it for me, will you, sweetie?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She looked at the ceiling and sighed. “I have but one eye to give for my country,” she said. Jason heard the sound of bells chiming “Claire de Lune,” and he followed the sound to Arlette sitting cross-legged beneath an awning near the infirmary tent. Sorrow brushed her face as she held the watch in both hands and gazed down at it. He crouched down next to her, touched her arm.
“You okay?” he asked.
She closed the watch, gave him a sad little smile. “I miss my grandfather,” she said.
“I know.”
“How’s your dad?”
“He’s planning on becoming some kind of media tycoon,” Jason said. She looked at him in surprise.
“He thinks he can make a lot of money off my story.” Jason shook his head. “I always wondered what it would take to get him to pay attention to me. Now I know.”
Arlette leaned forward, kissed his cheek. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“All his plans depend on my cooperation, though,” Jason said. “And if he wants me to cooperate, there are things I will want him to agree to.” He looked at Arlette. “Things involving you, maybe.” He rose from his crouch. “Let’s go find Nick and your mom,” Jason said. “I want to tell them good-bye.” Nick and Manon stood in the shade of some trees across from the Post Exchange, some of the few trees that had survived the quakes and Army Engineers bulldozers. In the helipad beyond, the engine of a Huey began to cough, then spit black smoke while drooping rotors began to turn.
“So,” Nick said, “what do you think? I shouldn’t have any trouble getting a job, not with so much reconstruction going on. Maybe lodging would be a problem, but I don’t see it being any worse than here.”
“I don’t know,” Manon said. “I don’t know where I stand with everything gone.”
“You’re standing in the same place as me,” Nick said. “I don’t know if I have a single possession left. Even these clothes belong to someone else.”
The Huey’s engine roared. Blades flogged the air. Manon looked up at Nick. “Because there’s nothing left?” she said. “Is that a reason to live with someone? Really?”
“It makes the decision easier,” Nick said. “I would think.” She came slowly into his arms. Oh God, he thought as he kissed her, I hope this works. He suspected, however, that it would. A few days ago, he’d been resigned to his own death. Now, having survived all that the river and all that mad, sorrowful humanity could throw at him, he had the feeling his luck was in.
Starting from nothing, sometimes, could be a good thing.
Dust and wind buffeted them as the Huey flogged its way into the sky. They winced away from the blast, then began, hand in hand, to stroll back toward the camp.
Nick smiled as he saw another couple heading toward them. “Hey there,” he said. Arlette looked from one to the other, recognized in their eyes a mirror of the glow that was in her own.
“Hey,” she said softly. “What’s going on?”
Nick let his arm slip around Manon’s waist. “Your mother and I,” he said, “we’re, ah, going to try this family thing again.” What have we got to lose? he thought dizzily. A smile broke across Arlette’s face. She threw herself into her parents’ embrace. Nick hugged her and stroked her, warmth throbbing through his heart; and then looked up at Jason, saw him watching, standing a few feet away, a wistful, lost little smile on his lips.