Visions (4 page)

“You’ve done well, and luck is with us. Let’s go, now, before anyone returns.” Maki closed the door to the cabin as the others hoisted the carcasses on their backs. Maki took the axe from Dorald, and carried it with his pointing weapon. In a minute they were back in the safety of the trees with a half-day march ahead of them, and darkness was coming fast. They would have to spend one more night outside, and return to the cavern in the morning. Han and Dorald both grunted under their burdens, and before long Dorald was complaining about being hungry again. It was going to be a long night for the three of them.

It was after dark when they reached the field they had eaten from on the way out, but noise drove them back to the shelter of the trees, and they watched fearfully as a great Hinchai machine chewed away the field illuminated by its dim light, spewing out a cloud of pulverized stalk behind and leaving nothing else in its wake. Fortunately for them the destruction was not completed.

The machine stopped suddenly, the light disappeared, and in seconds a lone Hinchai was walking two great animals across the now barren field towards a distant structure they had not noticed before. A single Hinchai had controlled the entire machine! Maki gained new respect for the power of the enemy; still, without their machines, they were no equal to a Tenanken warrior.

Maki turned to Han and Dorald. “It’s safe, now. You go down and eat your fill. I’ll stay here and guard the meat if you bring something back for me.”

The others nodded, grinning, and left without a word, frolicking downhill in the light of a rising moon, like children at play. Maki felt relief at being left alone to think. The disappearance of Hidaig’s band bothered him deeply, for he had counted on them for support when the time for his father’s overthrow came, and that would have to be soon. If only Hidaig was at his side now, then he wouldn’t have to put up with dim-witted Tenanken who thought only of their stomachs. His own stomach was cramped from hunger, but he ignored the pain. Food was only necessary to sustain life, but the survival of the true Tenanken was everything to him. He vowed to venture out again very soon, and find the new Hidaig encampment.

Maki watched for several minutes while Han and Dorald greedily stripped vegetables from their stalks, eating most, but dropping some in a little pile to take back up the hill. And when things began going wrong, it was subtle at first, Han eating, back turned to Dorald, the big Tenanken suddenly wandering away through tall stalks, the axe in his hand, heading towards the Hinchai cabin.

When Maki noticed it he wanted to yell, because Han just sat there munching contentedly. Dorald was swinging the axe in his hand, heading straight for the house, then veering towards the right, out of sight behind some trees and soon there was a crash and a babbling chorus from eating birds kept by the Hinchai. Maki shuddered. So close to the cabin, and all that noise, Dorald’s hunger could cost him his life.

Han had heard the sounds too, stretching to peer over the stalks, then looking back at Maki who motioned at him frantically to return. Han started up the hill at a run as the door of the cabin burst open, spilling light onto a stump, woodpile, and something moving in the trees. Dorald was carrying a thrashing bird. He raised the bird to his face, biting down on its neck until the bird was still. Maki could see him clearly, but trees obscured the view from the cabin. The Hinchai male appeared in the doorway, a pointing weapon in his hands, aiming at sounds among the trees and screaming in the language Maki was regrettably becoming familiar with.

“You Goddamn kids! This is the last time you raid my hen house! Pick
this
out of your ass!”

The explosion split the stillness of the night, a sheet of flame the length of a spear belching from the end of the weapon.

Dorald screamed, a loud, piercing scream of agony, but kept running.

The Hinchai jumped backwards. “What the hell was
that
?” He jumped again, into the cabin, and slammed the door behind him

There was shouting behind the door, and then—something—probing—passing through Maki’s mind like a wisp of wind—a vision of the caverns—Anka and Tel—his parents, grieving over something, a body lying before them. It was Maki’s body, face covered with blood.

Maki forced the vision away, closing his mind to further intrusion.
Who’s out there?
He looked around warily as Han reached him, out of breath, and Dorald was scrambling up the hill, holding one side with a hand.

The door to the cabin flew open again, and now there were two figures in the light. One was tall, the one with the pointing weapon, while the other was shorter but broad, nearly filling the doorway. “Second time this month,” came a shout. “These damn kids have no respect for a man’s property, and I swear to God I’ll blow them to pieces if they come back.”

The second Hinchai’s voice boomed in the night. “Come on, Ed, losing one chicken ain’t worth havin’ a heart attack over, and besides, the kid’s probably out there in the woods now pickin’ buckshot out of his ass. If it happens again, we’ll get some folks together for a search party, and then we’ll have some real fun!”

The two Hinchai went back inside again, and slammed the door. Ham flopped on his back, breathing deep. Dorald slowed down as he reached the top of the hill, head down because he could not endure Maki’s withering glare of anger and disgust. Dorald’s side was on fire, and blood oozed between his thick fingers, yet he knew he was not seriously injured. He walked past Maki and sat down next to Han, who examined his wound and said, “Many small punctures in the skin, but not deep. It should be washed, and salved.”

Maki stood over them, hands on hips. “All for a bird,” he said disdainfully. “You could have gotten us all killed over a bird.”

“I’m sorry, Maki,” said Dorald mournfully. His eyes were pleading.
Don’t throw me away like all the others have. I have no place else to go.
The giant child began to cry.

Maki smiled. A true leader is understanding, and merciful. “So you perceive your error. It was a stupid mistake, but one I hope you will learn from. You see how we must stay together in everything we do, and if you can learn this I promise the day will come soon when we drive out the Hinchai, and I will bring you back here with your club to crush the skull of the one who hurt you tonight.”

Both Han and Dorald were grinning, now. Maki slapped their shoulders affectionately, and walked away as both of them scrambled to their feet to follow him.

The night was half over when they reached the caverns, picking their way along the narrow ledge in total darkness, and squeezing into the entrance to find welcome torchlight. Maki stored his pointing weapon and Dorald’s axe by his sleeping place near the entrance, and the three of them disappeared down a tunnel to find water and salve for Dorald’s wound.

For a moment it was quiet in the vestibule they claimed as their own, and then a tiny face appeared in the flickering torchlight. Baela. The caverns had been humid that night, so she had slept in a fumarole near the entrance, awakening when Maki’s little band moved near her in the tunnel. She peered down the tunnel, head cocked to hear the slightest sound, eyes flashing mischievously in yellow light. She crept over to Maki’s sleeping place, and pulled aside the fur covering the axe and pointing weapon.

She touched each one, running her slender fingers over them, wondering at the smooth, cold and unfamiliar feel of metal, and then her eyes were attracted to the shiny metal projectiles strapped to the butt of the weapon.

Baela hesitated a moment, hand poised, then smiled to herself and removed one of the projectiles from a leather loop. Holding it tightly in her hand, she covered Maki’s possessions with the fur again, and hurried quickly away to her hiding place.

PETER PELEGEROPOULIS

The Athens Bar was jammed with miners from out of town, and it was getting loud. Sid Henderson, a tall, skinny man with the face of a predatory bird was working frantically to keep up with the thirsty men and their few women, but he was running out of glasses again. Sid hated weekends: Jake was getting drunk and belligerent at the end of the bar, and any second some hard-rocker was going to put his body through a wall, and then Sally came out of the kitchen, crying, and covered with soot. There had been another grease fire, and she had used the sand, so now five orders were burned beyond recognition, and another four were covered with grit. Nine hungry miners was a bad situation, which Sid temporarily saved by pouring nine drinks courtesy of The Management, who was upstairs in the apartment over the bar, eating dinner with his pregnant wife.

“Sid! Goddamn it, I’m empty again! C’mere.”

“You’ve had enough, Jake. Coffee, or nothin’.”

“Fuck you! I’m the best customer you’ve got here. The rest of these dirt diggers come to diddle the women. Me, I’m takin’ no chances; locked up my cows, too. Hee, hee, hee.”

“Shut your face, rummy, before I push it in.”

The voice of doom had emanated from a hulking miner whose buttocks reached to the stools on either side of him, a man-ape with red cap and plaid shirt. The man neglected his half-empty beer stein and drank straight from the pitcher. He gave Jake a baleful stare.

Jake Price was offended, and not the least bit frightened. “Ohhh, what a big man you are! Why don’t you threaten me when I’m sober?”

“You name the time and place, big mouth, and I’ll be there with a pick.”

“You’ll need more than that if you expect to—”

“That’s enough from you, Jake! One more word, so help me Christ I’ll never serve you a drop again, and Pete will back me up. We’re
both
tired of your shit!” Sid leaned over the bar and grabbed Jake’s glass, sweeping the place clean in front of him. It got quiet for just a minute, people looking to see what Jake would do, but finally the man just put his head down on the bar, and started to cry.

“Oh shit,” muttered Sid. He washed Jake’s glass in the suds, then filled it again for Sally, who had given up on the cooking and was now waiting tables. People were banging glasses on those tables, and Sally couldn’t move fast enough. That was it, Sid decided. Time to yell for help. He grabbed onto the rope hanging from the ceiling at the back of the bar and tugged on it frantically in Pete’s prearranged code for help. Just as he finished tugging, there was a crash and Jake’s head disappeared beneath the bar. Sid moved fast and pulled him up woozily from the floor, holding him from behind long enough to get him back on the bar stool and hoping he wouldn’t puke on the bar. The smell of booze, sweat and even hair on the animal heads mounted around on the lacquered pine walls didn’t help any, and there was no other place to put him because the dozen tables in the place were all filled up.

It was getting ugly: glasses pounding on tables, big men yelling at Sally for service, and the stink of grease smoke in the air when suddenly the front door swung open so hard it slammed back against the wall, and everyone screamed in unison at the man whose huge frame filled the doorway.

“Pete!” they all shouted.

Peter Pelegeropoulis flashed black eyes and a heart-softening smile from his wide, square face, raised two massive arms above his head and did a little twisting, swaying dance into the room. Humming to himself, he passed close to each table, picking up women like a magnet, two of the bigger, more aggressive ones attaching themselves firmly to his wrestler’s body by the time he reached the bar. Everyone now hummed the familiar tune, a subtly wild thing that got faster and faster. Pete danced the women around and around the room until they were a blur, and the miners were chanting and clapping to the beat of Greek music that was nowhere except in their minds. In the meantime, Sally was scooping glasses off the tables, and Sid was buried in soapsuds behind the bar.

A few moments later the crisis was over. Pete staggered around like he was ready to fall over, then dumped two exhausted girls into the lap of a delighted miner and kissed all three of them. Everyone was still laughing at the embarrassed miner when Pete turned and lumbered to the end of the bar, squeezing himself onto the stool next to Jake, who had started to cry again. It got a little quieter, then, people wanting to see what would happen with Jake. To most of the out-of-towners he was just an obnoxious drunk raising hell in a workingman’s bar until the owner showed up. But now Jake rocked back and forth on the stool, tears streaming down his face, and stared down at the cup of hot coffee Sid had shoved in front of him. It was amazing how a man could be ready to tear the place to pieces one minute, and cry like a baby the next.

Sid brought Pete a shot of whiskey, which disappeared in a gulp. “Thanks for coming, Pete. I guess I panicked.”

“No problem. I was wide awake, and horny, and Bernie needs her sleep.” Pete smiled at his little joke, and put an arm around Jake. “Besides, I like to be with my friends.”

Jake bawled pitifully for ten minutes after that, then all the deep breathing and shaking finally took its toll, and he was sick. Pete got him to the inside privy just in time, and held his head while he emptied the contents of his offended stomach. This took a while, but Pete was patient, and when it was finally over he cleaned Jake up, then guided him across the room towards the door, holding him like you’d hold a little brother who’d been hurt by the town bully. On the way, Pete was patting shoulders and touching faces. Smiling faces. The big Greek took care of his customers. In fact, he took care of everyone.

The night was cold, and Jake began shivering as soon as they were outside, walking across the dirt main street of town towards a two story wooden structure garishly painted red with white block letters proclaiming it to be The Cardinal Hotel. A joint venture between Pete and Sid, the hotel interior was not complete, but a few rooms were rented out, and one set aside for business meetings or high-stakes card parties. It was also a place to sleep for special friends who weren’t fit for riding or walking. And Jake Price was a special friend.

Pete dragged him past a surprised desk clerk named Ned Olsewski, who only nodded a greeting and tossed him a key. Jake’s legs seemed to go numb as they reached the unpainted stairs, and his feet went bumpity-bump behind him as Pete hauled his half-alive body up to the second floor. Pete leaned him against a wall while he opened a door and got a lamp going. He laid Jake cross-wise at the end of the bed, pulled back the covers, then undressed his friend as he would a little child, and tucked him in.

Jake’s eyes fluttered open then, and he said tearfully, “Sorry for fucking up your evening, Pete. I don’t see why you bother with a piece of shit like me.”

“Stop it. You’re feeling sorry for yourself again.”

“I mean it. I’m not worth messin’ with.”

“Bull. You think I waste my time with people? You’ve got a drinkin’ problem, Jake. I’ll serve you coffee, or milk, but no more booze. Not in my place. You want to kill yourself, you’ll have to do it alone at home.”

“Yeah, alone. You ever been alone, Pete?”

“Lots of times. It’s okay, because I like myself.”

Tears welled up in Jake’s eyes again. “You never had anyone leave you like that. You told me so.”

“A million men have been burned by women. Ester’s a tramp who latched hold of a lonely bachelor with property, and moved on when she found something wealthier. She’s never loved anything in her life.”

“But I loved
her
. I
still
do.” Tears were streaming down Jake’s pinched face, his hands twisting the edges of the bed covers.

“You’ll get over it, and there’s plenty of good women out there, women not pretty, maybe, but decent inside, and a lot of them get overlooked. Like Bernie, you know? She’ll never be a dance-hall queen, but I’ll tell you I’ve got me one hell of a woman, and if an ugly hulk like me can do it, you can too.”

Ordinarily Pete’s grin would have made anyone smile, but Jake remained wet-faced somber, and his eyelids were getting heavy again. Pete smoothed his hair with a big hand, then stood up. “Remember, you’re welcome in my place anytime, but no more booze. You put a cork in the bottle, things are gonna look a lot different to you. I gotta get back to Bernie. You stay here as long as you like, but get some sleep.” Pete opened the door, and started to leave.

“Pete?”

“Yeah, Jake.”

“Thanks for all this.”

“Nothing. You’re a friend, Jake.” Pete closed the door, then let out a big sigh when he heard Jake’s sobbing begin again. He went downstairs and straight outside, crossing the street to the log structure that was his first business and made him a part of society. Stairs led up the side of the building to the apartment on top. Smoke was coming out of the chimney, so Bernie was cold again. He climbed the varnished steps quickly, wood groaning beneath his big feet, and when he got to the landing he smelled coffee and heard rattling sounds in the kitchen. She had been sleeping so peacefully when he’d left, and he’d hoped he wouldn’t wake her.

When he went inside he found Bernice Pelegeropoulis sitting at the kitchen table, drinking milk and eating an enormous cucumber sandwich. “Coffee for you, and milk for me,” she said.

“I didn’t want to wake you up.” Pete pulled up a chair, and sat across the table from her.

“This kid of yours woke me up,” she said jovially, putting one hand on her swollen stomach. “The little animal’s been using my bladder for a punching bag all night. Seems like I have to pee all the time.”

Impulsively, Pete stood us, leaned over the table to kiss her firmly on the mouth, and licked his lips.

Bernie smiled. “Cucumbers—and sour cream. I was crazy for it when I woke up.”

Pete poured himself a cup of coffee, then sat down at the table again and took a couple of scalding hot sips. “Had to bed down Jake drunk again tonight. Seems like he’s been that way ever since Ester left.”

Bernie grunted with a mouthful of sandwich, and said, “Hell, he’s better off without her. Jake isn’t the first guy that little whore has messed up. Been doing it since before you swept
me
off my feet.”

Pete sipped his coffee slowly, looking thoughtful. “She must have her problems, too.”

Bernie laughed, reaching across the table to lay a big hand on his. “My darling, big bear of a man, one of the things I love about you is the way you try to see good in people. Ester’s only problem is finding a way to acquire and spend all the money in the world. Believe me, she’s just pure bad, always has been and always will be. Some folks is born that way.”

Pete looked doubtful. Bernie patted his hand, got up slowly and shuffled to the sink to clean off her empty plate. Pete watched her admiringly. She was a big woman: big-boned, large, firm arms and muscular legs matching her hips and frame. A good face: generous mouth and prominent nose framed by a billowing mass of blonde hair. Swedish stock, and not pretty by the usual standards, but striking and honest and generous and loving and funny as hell, and Pete was crazy in love with her. Their baby was going to be very large, and when Pete once worried about it she’d told him, “Daddy said if us girls were like momma we could give birth to a heifer. And we’re
all
like our momma.”

Pete wished he’d known Bernie’s parents, but they were gone before he’d arrived in town, and so now on occasional Sundays he took her to visit their graves in the little cemetery at the tree line below the cliffs. He still remembered the first visit together, when they stood before the two, simple head stones. Bernie hugged him, and said, “Momma, Daddy, this here is my man Pete. He’s not a Swede, but I love him anyway. We’re gonna be married soon, and have lots of babies, and raise ’em up right here in town.” She went on to tell them all about Pete, tears streaming down her face, and Pete trying hard not to cry, biting his lip so hard it bled. Her four sisters had all left town and married elsewhere, two in California, one in Texas, another in Chicago. A sleepy little town like Crosley was not for them, and they would never come back, even for a visit.

Bernie pushed against the sink, arching her back and stretching it, then turning to show Pete the movement inside her. “I think he’s doing something Greek.”

Pete laughed. “How do you know he isn’t a she?”

“You’re right, what do I know about these things? What we probably have here is a boy
and
a girl, and they’re fighting already.” A big ripple passed across her stomach, then back again, and she slapped at it gently. “Hey, quiet down in there!”

Pete grinned at her, and then she walked over to stand behind him, putting her arms around his thick neck. “I could sure use a back rub,” she said softly.

Pete didn’t answer, but rose from his chair and led her through the neat little sitting room, filled with overstuffed furniture with doilies on the arms, and a fireplace mantel covered with family pictures. Beyond that, and a heavy curtain, was the bedroom and a brass bed, and beside it the tiny crib he had finished painting white the day before. Bernie lay half on her stomach, half on her side while Pete kneaded the hard muscles in her lower back, big hands moving gently yet firmly over her. She moaned, then said, “Ohhh, that better’n sex.”

“What?” Pete kneaded a little harder, and Bernie giggled.

In a few minutes she was totally relaxed, and nearly asleep. Pete helped her slip under the covers, then turned out the lamp and undressed in the dark. Wearing only his under-shorts, he slid cautiously into bed beside his wife and draped one arm protectively over her so that she snuggled up against him and pulled his hand over to rest on her stomach. Her breathing slowed and deepened. From beneath the flesh of the mother a foot moved, dragging a heel past the resting hand of the father. Pete grasped it briefly, closing his eyes with his forehead against Bernie’s back and sending out a feeling of love, contentment and belonging. The movement slowed, and a moment later the three of them were asleep together in the darkness.