The Passage

Several crossings having taken place. Colonel Cage and Danny are among the

last group to cross, having stayed behind to guard the rear while Big Tom went

across with his wife and children, whom everyone agreed should be first.

Colonel Cage is feeling a bit of relief, and feels he can talk to those on the

boat openly, now that the women and children are not present. With a backdrop

of steady sloshing as the oars dip and pull, he queries Ian.

How many groups like yours are you aware of?

Ian says,

66

We're the only one, though for awhile there seemed to

be a group in the foothills, but their fires stopped

after a few weeks and we feel sure they're dead.

Colonel Cage gets right to the point, his jaw firm and face relaxed as he has

been trained to look danger straight in the face without flinching.

Have you had any run-ins with gangs, cannibalism?

Ian takes a moment to respond.

We've got a good position here, the river on one side

and the mountains on the other. Not many can get to

us unless we bring them over, like we did you. So I

guess we've not been the best target, thank God.

Colonel Cage and Ian are walking up the hill toward the camp from the river

bank. A group of women at the side of the trail are stirring something in a

pot over an open fire. Colonel Cage and Ian pass a woman pouring water into a

V shaped trough while another woman removes a drainage tray from under the

trough, replacing it with an empty tray. The trough is filled with gray ashes

with some chunks of blackened wood here and there, clearly ashes from a fire.

Phew . . Is that for supper?

Ian says,

They’re making soap. Fat and lye. Works well enough

but it’ll take the hair off your chest.

Ian has flashed a smile at Colonel Cage as they continue walking up the trail,

past a low table where a metal rack of soap forms is sitting inside a square

cake pan, a crisscross of metal sides where a dozen or more soap bars can

harden. The pot from the fire is brought over and a thick, beige colored,

steaming mixture is poured across the rack.

_______________________________

It is evening at the River Camp, where the women are having their first hot

tub bath in weeks. There is relaxed laughter from the steamy bathing hut. A

stocky town’s woman approaches from the hut with several clean towels over her

arm.

Inside the bathing hut Daisy is scrubbing her hair vigorously. She sinks back

into the tub to rinse her hair off, going under the water totally and emerging

with an ecstatic look on her face. She's home, once again, to where she can

expect the pampering she thinks is her due. Martha is toweling off Tammy, who

is chattering brightly about some friends she's met.

.. and they’re making a doll house too, but right now

they only have the mice to run through it. So maybe we

should call it the mouse house!

67

Tammy giggles, putting her hand to her mouth and looking up at her mother. Her

mother is visibly relieved, a calm contented look on her face. Clara is

soaking in a tub, submersed up to her chin and not moving.

I think I'll be here forever.

Netty is not among them.

_______________________________

Outside along the river bluff Colonel Cage and Big Tom and Netty are watching

the Sun go down, with Ian. They stand quietly, watching the brilliant

display. Ian says,

Compliments of the volcanic dust.

Netty asks,

Dust?

Breaking out of his thoughtful mood, Ian explains.

Oh, I mean we wouldn't have such a sunset if it

weren't for the volcanic dust. That's what I've

heard. When the Philippines went up we'd have these

kind of sunsets for awhile, but these are more

brilliant than anything I've ever seen. Guess that's

why we have such gloomy days, too.

The group turns their faces back to the sunset and falls silent, all in

thought.

_______________________________

It’s dawn, and birds are starting to chirp and sing irrepressibly. The river

water is placid. Big Tom and Red, who have arisen, used to farm hours where

everyone gets up at dawn or earlier. Big Tom is reaching into the back of his

shirt collar, pulling out a piece of straw. Their clothes have not been washed

as yet, nor have the men had a bath, having giving the women folk the first

opportunity.

I hear there was an old timer living here. Had a

garden and all.

Red says,

I talked to the guy last night. Trying to make the

tractor run on wood chips. Dangest thing I ever heard

of, but he claims it’s done.

Then pondering the mechanical challenge, Red voices his decision in a soft

voice with a hint of determination. This old man doesn’t back away from a