They stared at each other to the beat of the chugging engine.
“I was digging a new hole for the generator,” the old man explained. “The old one was filling with water. I didn’t figure having it outside just two or three days would do no harm. Go figure, heh?” He looked at them and smiled. Most of his teeth were missing, and those left were brown. “Just goes to show you,” he said, wagging a wrinkled finger at Birdie, “wherever you find luck, you find bad luck.” Birdie just stared at the old man.
They were standing outside the shack. After the first few moments of shock, Eric had lowered his gun. The old man was bent and mostly bald, except for a few spider silk strands of gray hair. Perhaps to make up for this, he had grown a long silver beard that was discolored yellow around his mouth. His face was round and drooped with age, but his eyes glinted and shined. His nose was slightly crooked and had several large bristles of hair poking from it.
He introduced himself as Remember, and when they looked at him incredulously, he laughed, a deep, carefree rumble, and assured them the name had a long and illustrious history in Vermont. “I’m practically tradition,” he said. “But I’m not, Tradition’s my sister!” He laughed at what seemed a very old joke. He ended his laughter with a loud cough and then spit loudly on the ground.
Remember told them his history, which, like all personal histories now, it seemed, began with the outbreak. About the time they stared fire bombing Houston, he had a feeling it was all going to get worse. (“Just a feeling”, he said, “a prem-O-nition.”) He remembered his father taking him to this old shack when he was young to watch the syrup being stirred in great aluminum tables. He decided to stay there until the epidemic stopped. Of course it never did. Now, he only went back to towns to get supplies. “It ain’t bad,” he told them. “I’ve always lived alone anyhow.”
Now, as a show of faith, they handed him a can of creamed corn and he eyed it with hungry eyes. “I can make a chowder with this,” he said hungrily. He looked up at them with flashing, greedy eyes. “I got Buster and Lady Boomer to help me out with milk.” He pushed a thumb over his shoulder and they saw the two goats. The goats were fenced in with chicken wire stapled to trees. Both goats looked at the new group with staring indifference. “Now,” said Remember, “I got something to show you all.” He winked at them and waved them toward the shack. He walked back and turned toward them. “Come on,” he said, waving encouragingly. “You’re going to like this.” He vanished inside the house.
“I’m getting my own prem-O-nition about this guy,” Sergio said. “You ever hear those stories about kids being lured into an old shack?”
“He’s okay,” Eric said. For some reason, he was thinking about Charlie. It seemed years ago. Like a flash of pure, perfect memory, he saw Charlie again, gurgling out his last breath. He shook it off with difficulty.
Lucia agreed with him, so, after a fearful sigh from Sergio, they walked inside.
And immediately saw Remember’s secret.
“This one here is all about these kids, right?” Remember held up a VHS tape to Birdie. “They’re going to lose their homes unless they find a pirate’s treasure.”
“Pirate treasure?” Birdie looked at the cover of the movie with awe. Remember cackled and let Birdie hold the movie.
They stood inside the shack, crowded, shoulder to shoulder. Inside the shack was a leather sofa with several blankets piled on top of it. The sofa faced a very large television. Eric had never seen such a large television before in his life. On one side of the wall was a small hot plate, surrounded by dishes, and underneath a small shelf, what looked like a few cans of food and some sacks of flour or rice.
The remainder of the shack was taken up by Remember’s secret. From the ceiling to the floor, all around three walls of the house, opening up only for a couple narrow windows, were stacked hundreds and hundreds of VHS tapes. Horror, action, comedies, documentaries, all stacked one on the other. On the floor in front of the television, amidst a web of wire, was a VHS player, still as a patient spider.
“Look here,” Remember said, flourishing his arms. “I got damn near every movie there ever was!” He laughed, proud of his collection. “I been to every video store I could find in Vermont, searching for new movies. I reckon this is about all there is.” When he looked at them, his eyes twinkled with passion. “All night, all I do is watch movies. That’s all!” He crossed his arms and stood up straight and proud. “Hell, turned out the end of the world weren’t too bad for me. I got everything I need. Fine comfortable place to sleep, big ole TV, and more movies than I can remember!” He laughed at his own pun. “I tell you what,” Remember said. “If you folk help me dig a new pit for my generator, you’re welcome to watch any movie you want! Any which one as pleases you!”
“This one!” Birdie exclaimed, holding up the movie Remember had given her. “Can we, Eric? Please?”
They looked at each other and then Eric turned to Remember. “All right,” he said, holding out his hand. “You have a deal.”
Remember was not like Charlie. Eric wondered if the old man had gone a little crazy. Sometimes, when they paused in the digging of the pit, Remember would turn to the two goats and say something, just as if they were having a conversation. “I ain’t going to make that mistake this time,” he told them once. “Don’t you worry none. I’m digging this pit with a drain.” The goats looked at him with empty curiosity.
Eric and Sergio worked with rusty spades while Lucia hauled away buckets of dirt. Birdie and Remember stood to one side and watched, Remember giving directions. The pit they dug had a small, cone-shaped bottom. Remember lined it with a hard plastic made from sleds. The bottom of the cone was drained with PVC pipe that Remember had already installed. The pipe ran downhill and emptied in a large, blue plastic container. Over the cone, they put a steel grate and then a steel mesh over that. On this, Remember poured gravel. Finally, over the gravel was placed a wooden palette. The four of them slowly lowered the generator down into the pit, using ropes and a triangular wooden frame over the pit. They set it steadily in it’s new home. When they were done and the wire was strung up out of the ground to the house, Remember cackled happily, and cranked the generator to a puttering, chuffing start. As a last step, he stuck a pipe from the engine up through the pit, to allow for exhaust and fresh air, and then, over everything he laid down a sheet of heavy plywood. Even though the generator chugged right beneath them, they could hardly hear the sound. Eric thought the old man had a mind for practicality. He would need to think like him when they arrived at the island.
Remember smiled and clapped their backs and told them how much work they had saved him. “That’ll keep them sons a bitches away,” he said to the goats, who did not answer. Eric didn’t know who he meant, but he didn’t need to. The Minutemen? Some other gang? Did it matter? For another, painful moment, he could see Charlie again, sitting by his fire with a book on his lap. He smelled Charlie, a woody, spicy smell, and his heart lurched.
They stood over the covered pit, sweating and breathing hard. Remember looked at them. “I got to thank you folks,” he said. “I would’ve broke my back doing this myself. Nearly killed myself moving that TV up here. I couldn’t hardly move. Near starved to death. Back ain’t been right since either.”
“You’re welcome,” said Lucia. “Glad to help. I have to say, we’re looking forward to some chowder and a movie.”
Remember smiled. “Well, it’s the least I can do,” he said. “I’m just plain lucky you guys come along. Plain lucky.”