Cottonwood (33 page)

“But after we eat, yes?”

“T’aki, come here.”

The gravity of his tone broke the hold of food, and the boy came, head cocked and curious. Sanford sat awkwardly on the bed, shifted several times, then hunkered on the floor and pulled his son onto his lap. Now he had the boy’s full attention, but he didn’t know quite how to begin. “Perhaps…we should not go back to our home in Cottonwood,” he said carefully. “I think Sarah will drive us away from this place if we ask.”

T’aki bobbed his head in a human gesture of assent, still listening and still puzzled. Of course Sarah would drive them away. She’d driven them here, hadn’t she, even without asking.

“We can live somewhere else,” he said. “And we will never go back behind the walls.”

“But we don’t have the key,” T’aki said, confused. “It doesn’t work yet.”

“No.”

“Will Sarah go and get it? Later?”

“No.”

T’aki stared at him without comprehension.

“It is a big planet,” Sanford said. “The humans cannot be everywhere. We will have a new home and it will be safer there.”

“But…it isn’t home. You said we will go to
our
home. On the ship.”

“Perhaps it is more important to be safe now than to go home later,” Sanford said, feeling with disquiet all the buried shadows in him that believed this and how desperately they urged the rest of him to agree.

“We’re supposed to go to the ship,” T’aki said stubbornly. “We’re supposed to go
home
.”

“Yes,” said Sarah suddenly from the doorway. She was standing just outside, pink with embarrassment for hearing this conversation, and for including herself in it. “You are. I’m sorry, Sanford. You’re right. What you’re doing is…is so much more important than being safe. For you or me or for anyone.”

He looked at her, his heart throbbing. “I know that isn’t easy for you to say.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whoop-de-wildebeest. Life is so hard when you have to say stuff.” She dropped her eyes and rubbed at them.

“What’s whoopee-wildebeest?” T’aki asked, puzzled.

Sanford rubbed his son’s head and set him down. “Even the smallest things matter, Sarah. Please take us home.”

“After you eat something.”

“Eat-Eat!” T’aki raced from the room.

Sarah lingered. Waiting to walk with him, he guessed, and guessed correctly as she fell into step close behind him. It was a human habit, he knew. He had often seen the guards at the wall walk together, and humans on television walking close if ever they went out walking. It didn’t necessarily mean anything.

He reached out and touched her arm with his fingertip. She started, then smiled at him and returned the gesture, finding his elbow-joint and stroking the receptive skin inside. His claspers twitched; he tightened them.

Then she let go and walked on ahead, to take food from the warmer and set it down before his son.

“What is it?” T’aki asked eagerly, tapping right at the bowl with his little claspers.

“Leftover Chinese. I kind of have to use it up, so…enjoy!”

T’aki squealed, lifted the bowl in both hands, and poured it whole into his throat, palps gnashing.

Appalled, Sanford snatched the empty bowl away and gave him a smack to the ear with it. “My son is gone!” he snapped. “Someone has sent me a Heap-rat to raise. Where are your manners?”

Sarah covered her mouth, to hide a smile, he was certain, and was grateful to her for not laughing out loud.

“I’m sorry.” Antennae flat, T’aki raised wounded eyes to his host. “It was good.”

“I’m glad you liked it,” she said in a solemn voice. “I’d have been gladder to see you like it a little slower. Drink your water.”

He did, slowly, shooting anxious glances between them until he was done.

“Good thing I saved some out for you,” Sarah said, setting a second bowl on the table (which frustratingly made it necessary for him to sit on the flat-bottomed human chair. All good for T’aki, who could climb the thing and hunker down, but Sanford had to fit himself atop it). “He just about took the paint off the walls inhaling his like that.”

Sanford glared across the table. T’aki lowered his antennae.

“Anyway, as soon as you’re ready, I figure we’ll sneak back in.” It was the animal’s turn now; she opened a can of food, added a generous amount of hard brown nuggets, and the dog came running in from across the house to eat with even less decorum than his son. “There shouldn’t be a problem. I mean, I’ve never been searched before, so—oh
gross
, T’aki! Don’t eat that!”

Sanford spun and there was his boy, sitting on the floor beside the dog with a handful of nuggets, palps grinding away. At his father’s expression, he dropped the nuggets hurriedly back into the dog’s bowl, but simply had to argue: “Why not?”

“It’s dog food!”

“I eat food like this.”

Pain sank hard into Sarah’s face. After a moment, she wet a cloth at the sink and came around the table to wipe T’aki’s hands and palps. “I know you do,” she said softly. “But you shouldn’t. If you’re still hungry, I can fix you something else.”

“I’m not. I just wondered what it tasted like. It’s good!”

She knelt there, her hands on T’aki’s shoulders, looking sad and helpless, then gave the boy’s face a final washing and said, “Fagin doesn’t think he gets enough food as it is. You shouldn’t ought to take it out of his bowl.”

“Oh.” Now he looked ashamed. “I’m sorry, Fagin.”

The dog did not respond, save to shake its tail and keep eating as noisily as it could.

“I bet if you pick up that ball and go wait on the sofa, he’ll come play Fetch when he’s done.”

“Can I wait outside?”

She hesitated, looking at the sky, and Sanford said, “It’s too light. You may be seen. Play inside and be careful where you throw.”

“Yes, Father.” T’aki went away, downcast.

Sarah watched him go, then dropped her cloth on the table and sat heavily. Her eyes were far away.

Sanford picked at the meat in his bowl. It did smell good, but he had no appetite.

They sat.

“You are good to him,” Sanford said.

She laughed, but not in a happy way. “Not feeding someone dog food is what I would consider a common courtesy, not to be rewarded in and of itself. This place is horrible, Sanford. And I am a horrible part of this horrible place.”

“That’s enough.”

“Don’t, Sanford. Don’t try to tell me…” One hand rose, half-covering her face without touching it. She looked away. “I’m one of them. Don’t you think I know that? I’m one of them and I’m
worse
than them, because I know it’s wrong and I’m…” A little water trickled from her eye, just once. She rubbed it away. “I’m doing it anyway.”

“Enough, I said.”

She looked at him, startled by the sharpness of his tone.

He ate.

After a moment, so did she, but she was mostly just picking.

“Where is your coffee machine?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes and pointed. “It’s not broken,” she told him as he turned around to study it. “I just can’t figure out how to program it.”

“So I see,” he said, examining the settings. He cleared the task-menu of its many, many time-delayed orders and held out his hand. “What would you like?”

“A caramel macchiato.” She passed him a mug. “That’s the third button on the middle section. You just drop in a caramel packet—”

“I know. Now, watch closely. Mode one. Order.”

“Oh, for crying out loud!” She smacked both hands to her face. “You have to hit
mode
? That’s
it
?!”

“—and then select base, then flavoring and then order again to complete. Just once. If you hit the button more than once—”

“It sets the timer,” she groaned behind her hands. “Yeah, I know that part. Mode. I thought you only used that to set the clock. I never would have thought of that in a million years.”

Her drink poured itself. Sanford ate the last of his morning meal.

“Something so simple,” she muttered, glaring into her cup. “I’m so stupid.”

Sanford reached across the table and thumped her on top of the head, where her ear would be if humans kept their ears in the usual place. He resumed eating.

“Fine, I’m not stupid. I’m just technologically retarded. Sheesh, you had that in less than a minute and you’re not even from this planet!”

“You’re welcome.”

“Oh.” She blinked rapidly. “Thank you. Uh…would you like some coffee?”

“Thank you. Black, no sugar.”

The meal concluded with two cups of coffee for each of them and a few sips for T’aki. Afterwards, an emotional farewell between boy and dog, and then into the dark room where the van laired, to be loaded into the rear hold under a blanket. T’aki, fed and covered over, slept on the short trip back, and no, there was no search at the gate, no trouble at all. The van did stop, but the man who came to the window did not question the obvious lump of blankets which sheltered Sanford and his sleeping son. He heard instead a low, worried voice: “I heard about last night. Are you okay?”

“Shaken, not stirred,” Sarah replied mysteriously, but the man laughed as if reassured.

“They said you tried to throw some kind of cook-out. Good for you.” A short silence, although Sarah must have communicated something because the man went on in relaxed good humor. “It took a lot of guts, but you know what they say: The first time is always the hardest. Maybe the next one will go over smoother.”

“You think there’ll be a next time?” Sarah asked.

“Not for a while, but sure, why not? They’re here to integrate, aren’t they?”

Again, Sarah made no answer, but when Sanford carefully shifted the blanket so that he could fit his eye to a tear in its fabric, he saw her smile reflected in the console-mirror. And that was all right. The man from the checkpoint gate was smiling back at her and while it was just as sincere in seeming, it struck him as distinctly less all right. He caught himself scraping his palps together and forced himself to lie still.

The man stepped away from the vehicle, although he reached out as he did so to catch the open window, anchoring himself to this continued moment. “So, yeah, I’ll let you get to it. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. And, maybe if you want, if you’re not too busy…”

“You mean if I’m not fired?” Sarah asked, still smiling although it had faded into something darker.

“Hey, if they were going to fire you, I’d be the first to know. You’re still on the list, so…” The man hung on the window, looking human and pink and ridiculous, and then suddenly, overloud, said, “You want to hang out sometime tonight?”

Sanford scraped his palps again, but Sarah’s voice covered what little sound he made with a startled, “What?”

The man let go of the window at once, his face very pink. “Well, not tonight,” he said quickly. “I’ve got a thing…but just in a casual sort of…if you didn’t have anything planned on some other night…not that I just stay home every single night—oh thank God,” he blurted as the phone at the checkpoint station rang for his attention. He retreated at a run and shut himself inside. The gate opened.

Sarah let out a stream of giggles, but only once, and it had the sound of nerves more than humor. She started driving, but as soon as she had turned onto the causeway, even that shaky laugh died. “Oh God,” she whispered, but that was all.

Sanford did not look. He would see it soon enough.

Slowly, the wheels ground and bounced along the road until finally the engines died. “This is it,” Sarah said, and came to open the door.

Her eyes were wet.

Sanford unfolded himself from the vehicle and looked around. It was not as bad as he’d feared. There were several shallow craters in the causeway where the explosive bombs had impacted, but all the houses seemed to be intact and only a few were singed. He could see charred patches of earth here and there, but no large bloodstains. He’d find out later just what casualties, if any, had ended the feast, but for himself, he was encouraged.

“Thank you,” he said.

“I hate bringing you back here. I know why I have to, but I hate it.”

“Will you come inside?” he asked, moving to open his door. “Please.”

“Sure, for a w—”

A shrill whistle and hard snap cut turned her acceptance into a flinch. Sam came briskly up the road, antennae high and in good spirits. “Nice party, huh?”

Sarah’s shoulders stiffened, but she forced her smile back on. “Hello, Mr. Samar—”

“I have to admit, when I heard you wanted to throw a block party, I didn’t really think you’d set fire to the whole fucking block,” Sam said. “You know, there are easier ways to get out of work than to cook your clients. And God knows that didn’t help the smell around here.” He took a deep breath, coughed it out theatrically and said, “Burnt bug. That is never coming out of my curtains, caseworker. Think you can order me some new ones?”

She stared at him, her mouth open slightly, then passed a hand over her face and turned around. She went without speaking to her van and drove away.

“Nice party,” Sam said again, cheerfully. “Where did you go? You missed all the fun when—”

Sanford punched him right in the soft plates between the eyes. Not a killing blow, not even by half, but enough to make himself felt, by God.

“What the fuck was that for?” Sam bellowed, grabbing at his face.

“That you can
joke
of cooking us while standing here in front of Baccus’s house!” Sanford spat, and little T’aki came up shrilling, “Her father
died
in a fire!”

Sam froze, hands still raised, but motionless. He looked back at the blackened shell of Baccus’s home, then at Sanford. “I didn’t know that,” he said awkwardly.

T’aki skreed, palps fully extending and rattling, furious in his small and earnest way. Sanford snatched him up and thumped him down inside their home, then swung on Sam again, shouting, “Did it ever occur to you that she risked her life to feed you, even
you
? Don’t you ever get tired of
pissing
on people?
Zhu’kwe
!”

He stalked into his house, banging the door on Sam’s silent, staring face. He picked up a broken audio-speaker, threw it down again with a curse, and then sat, staring at the empty chair where Sarah liked to sit.