So he was old, he would die soon. Or make his try for Whitney. One day I would go up the hill and the house would be empty. Maybe there would be a note on the table saying “Gone to Whitney,” more likely not. But I would know. I would have to imagine his progress from there. Would he even make it forty miles to the north, to his birthplace Orange?
“You can’t take off at this time of year,” I said. “There’ll be snow and ice and all. You’ll have to wait.”
“I’m not in any rush.”
We laughed, and the moment passed. I began thinking about our own disastrous trip into Orange County. “I can’t believe we did something that stupid,” I said, my voice shaking with anger and distress.
“It was stupid,” he agreed. “You kids had the excuse of youth and bad teaching, but the Mayor and his men, why they were damned fools.”
“But we can’t give up,” I said, pounding the sandstone, “we can’t just roll over and lie there like we’re dead.”
“That’s true.” He considered it. “And maybe securing the land from intrusion is the first step.”
I shook my head. “It can’t be done. Not with what they have and what we have.”
“Well? I thought you said we don’t want to play possum?”
“No, right.” I pulled my feet up from the cliffside so I could squat and rock back and forth. “I’m saying we’ve got to figure out some other way to resist, some way that will work. We either do something that works, or wait until we can. None of this shit in between. What I was thinking of was that all the towns that come to the swap meet, if they worked together, might be able to sail over and surprise Catalina. Take it over for a time.”
Tom whistled his weak, toothless whistle.
“For a while, I mean,” I said. The idea had come to me recently, and I was excited by it. “With the radio equipment there we could tell the whole world we’re here, and we don’t like being quarantined.”
“You think big.”
“But it’s not impossible. Not someday, anyway, when we know more about Catalina.”
“It might not make any difference, you know. Broadcasting to the world, I mean. The world might be one big Finland now, and if it is all they’re going to be able to do is say, we hear you brother. We’re in the same boat. And then the Russians would sweep down on us.”
“But it’s worth a try,” I insisted. “Like you say, we don’t really know what’s going on in the world. And we won’t until we try something like this.”
He shook his head, looked at me. “That would cost a lot of lives, you know. Lives like Mando’s—people who could have lived their full span to make things better in our new towns.”
“Their full spans,” I said scornfully. But he had jolted me, nevertheless. He had reminded me how grand military plans like mine translated into chaos and pain and meaningless death. So in an instant I was all uncertain again, and my bold idea struck me as stupidity compounded by size. Tom must have read this on my face, because he chuckled, and put his arm around my shoulders.
“Don’t fret about it, Henry. We’re Americans; it ain’t been clear what we’re supposed to do for a long, long time.”
One more white sea cliff smashed to spray and charged toward us. One more plan crumbled and swept away. “I guess not,” I said morosely. “Not since Shakespeare’s time, eh?”
“Harumph-hmm!” He cleared his throat two or three more times, let his arm fall, shuffled down the cliff away from me a bit. “Um, by the way,” he said, looking anxiously at me, “while we’re on the subject of history lessons, and, um, lies, I should make a correction. Well! Um… Shakespeare wasn’t an American.”
“Oh, no,” I breathed. “You’re kidding.”
“No. Um—”
“But what about England?”
“Well, it wasn’t the leader of the first thirteen states.”
“But you showed me on a map!”
“That was Martha’s Vineyard, I’m afraid.”
I felt my mouth hanging open, and I snapped it shut. Tom was kicking his heels uncomfortably. He looked about as unhappy as I had ever seen him, and he wouldn’t meet my eye. Gazing beyond me he gestured, with an expression of relief.
“Looks like John, doesn’t it?”
I looked. Along the cliff edge above Concrete Bay I spotted a squat figure striding, hands in pockets. It was John Nicolin all right. He walked fast in our direction, looking out to sea. On the days when we were kept from going out, when he wasn’t working on the boats he was on the cliffs, most of the time, and never more than when the weather was good and we were kept in by the swell. Then he seemed particularly affronted, and he paced the cliff grimly watching the waves, acting irritable with anyone unfortunate enough to have business with him. The swell was going to keep us off the water for two days at least, maybe four, but he stared at the steaming white walls as if searching for a seam or a riptide that might offer a way outside. As he approached us his pantlegs flapped and his salt-and-pepper locks blew back over his shoulder like a mane. When he looked our way and noticed us he hesitated, then kept coming at his usual pace. Tom raised a hand and waved, so he was obliged to acknowledge us.
When he stopped several feet away, hands still in pockets, we all nodded and mumbled hellos. He came a few steps closer. “Glad to see you’re doing better,” he said to Tom in an offhand way.
“Thanks. I’m feeling fine. Good to be up and around.” Tom seemed as uncomfortable as John. “Magnificent day, ain’t it?”
John shrugged. “I don’t like the swell.”
A long pause. John shuffled one foot, as if he might be about to walk on. “I haven’t seen you in the last couple days,” Tom said. “I went by your house to say hello, and Mrs. N. said you were gone.”
“That’s right,” John said. He crouched beside us, elbow on knee. “I wanted to talk to you about that. Henry, you too. I went down to take a look at those railroad tracks the San Diegans have been using.”
Tom’s scraggly eyebrows climbed his forehead. “How come?”
“Well, from what Gabby Mendez says, it appears they used our boys as a cover for their retreat after the ambush. And now it turns out that mayor got killed. I went and asked some of my Pendleton friends about it, and they say it’s true. They say there’s a real fight going on right now down there, between three or four groups who want the power that the mayor had. That in itself sounds bad, and if the wrong group ends up on top, we could be in trouble. So Rafe and I were thinking that the railroad tracks should be wrecked for good. I went down to look at that first river crossing, and it’s pretty clear Rafe could destroy the pilings with the explosives he’s got. And he says he can blast the track every hundred yards or so, easy.”
“Wow,” said Tom.
John nodded. “It’s drastic, but I think it’s the right move. If you ask me, those folks down there are crazy. Anyway, I wanted to know what you thought of the idea. I was going to just get Rafe and go do it, but…”
Tom cleared his throat, said, “You don’t want to call a meeting about it?”
“I guess. But first I want to know what some of you think.”
“I think it’s a good idea,” Tom said. “If they think we were in on the ambush, and if that super-patriot crowd gets control… yeah, it’s a good idea.”
John nodded, looking satisfied. “And you, Henry?”