Eye of Flame (13 page)

The morning air was cool and the grass around the building still dewy. As she walked, Alia saw the tips of her boots darken with moisture. She pivoted and looked back.

The hospital seemed to tower above her. It was an ugly building, tall and square with baroque balustrades surrounding balconies on every floor of the thirty-story structure. The heavy wooden doors, propped open, which led into the lobby seemed out of place, an afterthought. She turned away from the hospital. Grasslands surrounded the building on all sides; the only tree she had ever seen was the weeping willow near the back entrance.

Alia set out across the green field in front of her. She hoped Tomas wouldn’t worry, remembered seeing him under Tamu’s sheets, then began to wish that he would worry a little. He would have to dress someone else today, if anyone would sit still that long. She laughed to herself.

The knapsack had grown heavier. Alia stopped, removed it, and sat down. She was still surrounded by green meadows, and she could still see the hospital. It was small and close to the horizon, a grey block against the blue sky.

She couldn’t have made much progress if she could still see the hospital. Annoyed, she stood up and began to drag her knapsack behind her. The cursed thing seemed to be made of lead.

Alia trudged on, dragging the knapsack. Occasionally she turned and, seeing the grey block, would keep going. The weather had grown warmer, and her clothes were sticking to her. She pushed on, dragging the knapsack up a small hill and down the other side, through a field of dandelions and up another small hill. She moved on until she was exhausted and had to stop once more.

She fell next to the knapsack and stretched out on the ground, catching her breath. At last she sat up and climbed to her feet.

The hospital had vanished.

She sat down again, facing her long afternoon shadow. At last she was free of the place. If Tomas had been with her, he would be trying to guess what was beyond the meadow, if indeed there was anything beyond the meadow. Alia was content to wait. She shivered, suddenly apprehensive.

Alia had found some trees by nightfall and decided to sleep under them, feeling somehow, that she would be safer there. By morning, she regretted the decision. The ground under the trees had been harder than the soft meadowland.

She began to walk around the trees, feeling numb in the cool morning air. Her jacket was damp with dew. “This is ridiculous,” she said aloud, “walking all this way to see five trees.” Her voice sounded hollow. She shuddered and decided not to talk to herself again.

She hoisted the knapsack onto her back and set off. Occasionally she looked back. The trees moved closer to the horizon and finally disappeared. A song Tamu had taught her ran through her mind, repeating itself monotonously.

At noon she sat down to rest. The silence of the grasslands had grown oppressive. She pulled out her canteen and drank noisily, smacking her lips between swallows. She opened a packet and gnawed at the rubbery chicken inside, then let out a loud belch.

Ahead of her was a very high hill, higher at least than any she had seen so far. She noticed a small structure on the side of the hill, squinted at it nearsightedly, but couldn’t see what it was.

She hurried toward the hill, curious now. She moved quickly, ignoring the warmth of the sunlight and the increasing heaviness of the knapsack she was dragging.

Reaching the hill, she began to climb toward the structure. It was a well. She had seen a painting of a well in the library; in fact, this looked like the same one: brown stones, wooden bucket parked on the edge, wild violets growing nearby.

There was one difference. She could see a wooden plank resting against the well. Someone had painted white letters on the plank. She read the message:

WATER—FILL UP

YOU’RE GOING TO NEED IT

Alia sat down and stared at the plank. Tomas, she thought, would have been terrified by now. She reached over and touched one of the white letters with her finger.

The paint was still wet.

She jumped up quickly and looked around. She saw nothing but grassy fields on all sides. Her hands were trembling. Someone had painted the sign very recently.

Whoever it was might be just over the hill.

Alia paced near the well, clenching her hands, trying to calm herself. Someone is telling me I need water, she thought, that’s all; I’ll fill my canteen and the empty packets and reseal them, and then I’ll see what’s over the hill.

She lowered the bucket into the well, then filled her canteen and empty food packets. She resumed her climb. The hill was steeper than it looked, and her legs ached from the exertion. The weather had grown extremely warm, and the air seemed dryer. The knapsack was pushing her toward the ground, and her calf muscles tightened.

At last, panting, she reached the top of the hill and looked around.

The green grass continued to the bottom of the hill, then stopped abruptly. In front of her, Alia could see only dry, flat desert land. The desert stretched to high mountains far in the distance, at least a day’s walk away. There was no sign of life anywhere on the desert wastes except at one point midway to the mountains. There, she could see what looked like a small group of buildings. They seemed to shimmer before her eyes.

People. There might be people there.

A wave of panic swept over her. I should go back, she thought wildly, and shuddered at the thought of the diseases to which she might be exposing herself.

She turned quickly, tripped, and began to roll back down the hill, finally sliding to a stop.

“Stop it,” she said aloud, “if you panic now, you’ve come all this way for nothing.” Her voice was harsh, and she whispered her next words. “I’ll stay near the well, and I’ll sleep there, and rest, and decide tomorrow.”

She walked back down to the well where, after a hasty look around, she stripped off her clothes and then lowered the bucket for water. She poured it over her body, welcoming the coolness. The water was a silver stream, refreshing and calming her. She threw herself to the ground, feeling the warm rays of the sun on her back, and sniffed at the wild violets.

She set out across the desert before dawn. It was cold at first, but after walking for a while, she peeled off her jacket and put it into the knapsack.

The sun was burning her face, and she could feel the desert heat through her boots. Alia began to whistle, marching in time to the tune. The desert blurred around her, and the thin layer of sand over rock seemed almost white. She kept marching, pausing only long enough to drink from one of the food packets.

Ahead of her, the buildings in the center of the desert shimmered. As she came closer, she noticed something odd about them. The ones at the edge of the town were not buildings at all, but only facades supported by wooden rails, as if the entire town were nothing more than a stage set. Moving nearer, she saw that in fact there was only one real building in the town, in the center of the facade.

She suddenly felt foolish, trudging across the desert to meet this display. She walked over to the building in the center, an old rickety wooden structure three stories high, feeling more alone than ever. It would at least shade her from the desert heat for a while. She peered inside the front window and saw an unlighted room with round tables, chairs, and a long bar on one side near the wall. She tried the door. It opened easily and she walked inside.

Everything in the room was coated with a layer of grey dust. Alia walked to a table near the bar and took the knapsack off her back, placing it next to a chair. Rummaging in the sack, she pulled out her jacket and dusted off the table. Then she sat down, resting her head on the tabletop.

She had come on a fool’s errand. She should have turned back at the well, but she had come too far to turn back now. She sighed and closed her eyes.

“My God, honey, don’t look so sad. What you need is a cold beer.”

Alia sat up quickly. A tall busty red-headed woman was standing near her, arms resting on the dusty bar. She smiled at Alia.

“Who are you?” shouted Alia, almost rising to her feet.

“Don’t look so worried, honey. My name’s Eta. I own this establishment.” The woman walked toward her, carrying a bottle. She wore a long purple dress which trailed behind her, picking up dust and leaving a streak on the floor. She put the bottle in front of Alia and sat down across from her, placing her elbows on the table. “Go ahead, it’s on me. Business is so lousy lately, I can’t lose much more giving it away.” Eta smiled and fluttered her thick black eyelashes.

Alia picked up the beer. It was cold and wet with beads of condensation. She sipped at it tentatively, then began to gulp it down.

“You know,” said Eta, “everyone used to come here. Why, you couldn’t hardly find a place to rest your ass. But you know how people are; they go to a place, and before you know it they’re moving on to a new place because it’s got a band or hot horsy dervs or some other fool thing. I don’t have all that, but I run an honest bar, and I don’t care if people get boisterous or the girls want to make some spare money on the side or somebody wants to throw some chairs around, but I guess Eta’s place just isn’t good enough any more.”

Alia stared at the woman. She could not understand what Eta was talking about and was afraid to ask. “This whole damn town used to come here,” Eta went on. “I remember when Gar Tuli got so mad he threw a whole table through that window over there, and his woman—she was big, honey—sent him through the window when she found out about him and Neela. What a night!”

Alia looked down at her beer bottle. The woman must be mad. This could never have been a town, not unless everyone had moved and taken the buildings with them. “Maybe they’ll all come back someday,” she said, trying to smile sympathetically, “when they get tired of the other place.” She finished her beer. Eta’s eyes seemed to flicker a bit as she watched Alia. The woman was silent for a few seconds; then she slapped her thigh and laughed loudly.

“You’re all right, honey. You know the right thing to say. I feel better already.” Eta got to her feet. “You want another beer?”

Alia shrugged. Eta sailed over to the bar, making another trail in the dust with her train. She bent over behind the bar, then stood up. Alia could see silver beads on the bottle Eta was holding and wondered how the woman kept the beer cold.

“Where you headed for?” asked Eta.

“I thought I’d take a look at the mountains,” Alia muttered. Eta came back with the beer and sat down again.

“There’s nothing over there, honey,” the woman said.

“How long does it take to get there?”

“A few hours. But I’d advise you to head back where you came from. Or you can stay here and maybe we can figure out how to get some customers. We oughta think of something between the two of us.”

Alia stood up. “You’re insane,” she said quietly. Eta didn’t respond. “You are really demented. There aren’t any people here; there aren’t even any buildings except this one. I’ve got better things to do than spend time with a madwoman.” She picked up the knapsack, watching Eta. The woman was silent. Alia moved toward the door.

Suddenly Eta chuckled. “You sound like Gar Tuli,” she said. “You know what he used to say? He used to say, ‘Eta, you got cobwebs in the attic.’ I think you better go back where you came from.”

“Thank you for the drink,” said Alia. “If I see anybody, I’ll be sure to recommend your hospitality.” She left Eta sitting at the table and stepped into the hot dry air outside. As she walked away from the building and past the facades on either side of her, she began to feel a bit more energetic in spite of the heat. Tendrils of guilt brushed at her mind, and she speculated about Eta, thinking that perhaps she should have stayed with her for a day, talked to her, and offered some help. She pushed Eta out of her mind. The woman was demented, after all; she could have done nothing for her. It was a wonder she had lasted in the middle of the desert; the woman must be more resourceful than she seemed.

Alia burped, then began to whistle again as she marched toward the mountains.

Alia had reached the mountains during the night and slept on the hard desert ground with her jacket wrapped around her. By morning she was shivering from the cold, and she welcomed the sight of the blood-red sun as it began to climb above the now-orange wilderness.

She looked up at the mountain above her. It was rocky and not quite as high as she had thought, although it would take some time to get to the summit. She opened her knapsack and removed some food.

“Mind if I join you?” said a voice. Alia turned her head quickly. A skinny old man sat on the rocks above her.

“Come on down.”

The old man clambered over the rocky slopes and was soon sitting next to her. He had an untrimmed grey beard which seemed to wobble on his face, and his shabby brown shirt, black slacks, and boots showed signs of wear.

“I sure am hungry,” the man said, eying her dried beef.

“I can only give you one packet.” She rummaged in the sack and took out one of the apricot bars, which tasted sour anyway, and tossed it to him.

“I can take you up the mountain,” said the man, tearing open the food packet. “You can go up yourself, but it’ll take you a lot longer; you don’t know the mountain. I can take you up in three, four hours maybe.”