The rest of his words were drowned out when, beneath their feet, the pavement trembled like the roll of a hundred drums. In an instant they were engulfed by a cavernously deep rumbling, as if something vast and invisible were bearing down upon their lives. Through the subterranean corridors below them an IND express hurtled noisily uptown, leaving only silence in its wake.
Silence… but broken by a certain sound behind them, a queer irregular thump-and-scrape from somewhere down the block.
'What will it be on?'
'Pardon?' He was peering over his shoulder, but quickly turned back to her; one didn't stare at cripples. In the distance the little figure with the cane, head bowed, continued its laborious progress up the sidewalk. The emptiness and the night seemed to press heavily upon it.
'Your course,' she said. 'What'll it be on?'
'I'm calling it 'The Gothic Imagination.' That's the kind of title they go for up there. I told them I'd start with Shakespeare and work right up to Absalom, Absalom, and believe it or not, they bought it. They must think-'
'Wait a second! Since when did Shakespeare write gothics?'
He paused. 'Well, there's always Hamlet. You know – ghost on the battlements, lost inheritance… But that was just part of the sales pitch. The same with the Faulkner; I threw them in for the names. The truth is, I'll mainly be reading a lot of crazy old horror stories, the sort of stuff I should have read ten years ago. I've been faking it all this time, and now's my chance to find out what I've missed.' He turned to look at her, smiling. 'Should be fun, eh?'
She felt a tiny urge to needle him, for there was something about his enthusiasm that irritated her – the same smug faith in good fortune, perhaps, which she occasionally recognized in herself. Or perhaps it was just that he seemed so blithely prepared to leave her.
'And what will you do out there,' she asked, 'if you get sick of ghost stories?'
'Oh, that shouldn't be a problem,' he said. 'I'm pretty good at keeping myself busy. One thing's for sure, I'm not going to spend the summer sitting on my ass. I'm going to get myself in shape, maybe even do a little jogging. Establish a routine and stick to it. Bran and yogurt at breakfast, dental floss at night, shoes on the shoe trees before going to bed… '
She noticed with some amusement that, as he spoke, he was swinging his arms more forcefully and holding his head up straighter.
'And in the evening,' he said, 'who knows? I might try to teach myself astronomy. That's something you can't do in the city – stargazing. I'm bringing out a book with all the maps. It'll be nice to learn what's actually up there.'
The two of them looked upward as they passed along the block, but by now the city sky was almost starless. The moon had vanished behind the buildings to the west; they saw it shining low over the cross streets and the vacant lots.
'If things get too boring,' he added, 'I suppose I can always get a lift into Gilead. What there is of it, anyway.' He shrugged. 'And, of course, if worst comes to worst, I can always try bird-watching, I hear that's fun, or go for walks in the woods. In fact – now, don't laugh! – I'm bringing out a whole slew of those little illustrated field guides. I mean, let's face it, I don't know a hell of a lot about campcraft – I'm like the guy in the joke: the last time I tried rubbing two sticks together was in a Chinese restaurant – but there are quite a few things I'd really like to learn: like mushroom hunting, and animal tracks, and the names of some of the flowers. Round-lobed hepatica, Dutchman's-breeches' – the names rolled off his tongue -'bachelor's button, touch-me-not… '
She nudged him with her elbow. 'You sound just like the nature counselor at B.C.Y. C'
'Oh, yeah?' He stopped and faced her. 'And what, pray tell, is B.C.Y.C.?'
'Beaver County Youth Camp.'
His mouth opened in a incredulous grin. 'Beaver County? Is that where you're from?'
'Uh-huh!' She burst into giggles.
He laughed, too, with something like relief. 'The girl from Beaver County… What a find!'It was as if a wall between them had been broken. They leaned against one another, rocking with laughter. 'And what a great title for a film! We'll get-'
Suddenly he caught his breath. She felt him stiffen.
'Jesus! How does that guy keep up with us?' He squinted into the darkness. 'I've never seen a cripple move so fast.'
She turned and looked, but the sidewalk behind them was empty, the streets hushed but for the wail of a distant police siren, rising and falling, rising and falling, like a hungry baby screaming unheeded in the night.
The time of idleness was drawing to an end. Away from the others, near the rosebushes at the side of the house, the Poroths lay drowsily in the long grass and the shadows from the kitchen light, resting beside one another. They were alone here but for a trio of their cats, two stretched in sleep between them, another curled purring on Deborah's stomach. With the murmur of voices so distant and the bonfire out of sight behind the house, Sarr felt sorely tempted to roll over and hold her in his arms – they were used to making love among the animals, outdoors as well as in – but he forced the desire from his mind. Not for another full day; not until the planting was complete. Sunday, though, was going to be special. Sunday after services…
'Just a few more hours of this, Lord be praised,' he said. 'But I can't say as I look forward to tomorrow night, with just the two of us.
I'll bet we end up working straight through to Sunday morning.'
Deborah made a sympathetic noise. 'I sure hope I don't doze off again in the middle of the sermon. They've never let me forget it!'
'Don't worry,' he said sharply, 'I'll make sure you stay awake. But as soon as we come back here, I'm going to sleep for the rest of the day. And you're going to be right there beside me, naked as Old Mother Eve; so that when I get up-'
'Oh, no, I'm not, honey. And neither are you.' She reached over and ran her fingers through the dark hair on his chin. 'Don't you remember? We've got a visitor coming on Sunday.'
Sarr made a face in the darkness. 'I forgot all about him.' With a sigh he sat up, dislodging a cat about to seat itself on his chest. 'Well, at least it'll bring in some money. Lord knows we can use it.' He turned and looked across the lawn at the outbuilding, a squat black form against the night sky.
'We'll have to get the place fixed up tomorrow,' said Deborah, as if reading his thoughts. 'Put up the screens and get the ivy off those windows. And I don't intend doing it all myself.'
He grunted noncommittally.
'We'd best do it early,' she went on. 'We'll have more planting at night, and Sunday'll be too late. 'Twould be awful if he came out here with all his goods, took another look at the place, then turned around and went home.' She paused, speculating. 'I sure hope he doesn't mind a few bugs.'
He got to his knees and began brushing the dirt from his pants. 'Well,' he said, 'you never know about those city people.' Yawning, he stood and sniffed the air; the wind was blowing off the marsh, but he could smell the fragrance of the freshly planted field, the moist soil and vegetation. 'All right, woman!' He prodded her gently with his toe. 'High time we got back to the others.'
'Sure wouldn't want old Joram to squawk!'
'No, wouldn't want that.' He smiled in spite of himself, but then felt a surge of anger. How dare she talk that way? And how dare he let her? Troubled, he turned from her to stare into the distance. As always, the view calmed him. He was simply going to have to make her understand. But not now, not on such a night…
There was a faint glow in the eastern sky, past the outbuilding and the woods. The wind was blowing from behind him and went hissing through the tops of the trees; they nodded together as if sharing a secret. As a boy, on nights like this, he'd used to pretend that, if he stood on tiptoe, he could see truck depots, railroad yards, and glimmering lights – the lights of New York City, not fifty miles away.
Rejoining the others gathered around the cottonwood fire, they savored the last quiet moments before their return to the field. Here and there a knife blade rose and fell in the ruddy light as the younger men sat sharpening the ends of their staffs. Two acres had already been planted; before they departed tonight they'd have completed two more. A fifth would still remain, but after dark tomorrow Poroth and his wife could see to that themselves. 'Twill keep 'em out of mischief on a Saturday night,' joked one of the men. 'We'll see 'em stagger into worship next morning with corn seed in their hair!'
