‘But this is a dream,’ thinks the Old Man and hears the uncertainty in his own voice.
Then why are you trying to save him?
Because he is Big Pedro. Because he is my friend. Because I must.
And the Old Man feels the gravel shifting beneath his belly as he tries to get a little closer to Big Pedro. That way he can grab his hand and they can climb back up the rope that the Old Man has secured about his waist and to the conveyor belt.
The rope is not there.
Big Pedro smiles.
But this is a dream, right?
“Yes, of course, my friend,” says Big Pedro in his high Mexican tenor.
You screamed when you went over the side.
“Yes.”
And I heard that scream for years.
Yes, but this is a dream.
If you say so.
And Big Pedro falls and does not scream.
In fact, he smiles, and nods, and encourages the Old Man, just as he did when he taught the Old Man who was then a young man, a survivor of the Day After, all the skills one needs to live and survive in the very dangerous Sonoran Desert.
Traps for rodents.
Traps for Serpiente.
Traps for foxes.
“Can you let go?” asks the familiar voice.
Can you let go?
And the Old Man is sliding fast down the gravel, toward the pit, toward where Big Pedro has gone and the pool at the end of the drop where they will meet again. The pool that waits for us all.
Can you let go?
Yes. Yes I can.
And the Old Man lets himself think for a moment that he is tired. He thinks that his dusty and bleeding fingers could merely splay outward and he would glide down this pile and over the edge.
Yes. Yes, I can let go, if you will let me. If I don’t hear my granddaughter. If she doesn’t… then yes, I can finally let go.
And the Old Man is on his back and tumbling down the pile, and though he doesn’t see her he hears her calling for him, crying,
Which is the worst.
Which is what makes the Old Man try and grab the shifting sand to save his falling life.
I must because the edge is so near.
And…
Because she needs me.
Why?
Because to break her heart is too much to bear.
It is?
Yes, yes that is the worst.
Worse than the pit and pool at the bottom?
Falling!
And he is up and awake and saliva is running down onto the side of his mouth. There is meat cooking and he hears her laughing beside the fire.
And the Boy is drawing faces in the dirt with a stick as she watches and what he draws makes her laugh.
“Can you let go?” asks that very familiar voice.
If I could take her laugh with me, then yes, I will let go of everything.
THEY EAT MEAT and though there is no pepper, it tastes good. Wonderful in fact. The Old Man tells them about cities. About buses and trains and how one could take them to work, and after work, ride them to a game. Which leads to baseball. Which neither of them have ever heard of.
The Old Man tells them about baseball.
About ballparks in the early summer evenings.
About the importance of fall.
About a game in which he saw a man hit three home runs in one night. About how the floor of the stadium shook as the man, the hero, came to bat for the last time and everyone was sure he would do it. Sure he would hit another home run because it just had to be. Because it was meant to be.
They ask him details.
What were hot dogs?
What is a strike?
What are good tickets?
When they finally sleep, the Old Man lies awake.
Probably because I took a nap before dinner.
It wasn’t much of a nap. We cheated them, you know.
Who?
The young. We cheated them.
How?
They will never know that night of baseball. The night of three home runs when the floor of the stadium shook. We cheated them of that and all the good things we had and took for granted.
Yes.
They should never forgive us for that.
Later when he still cannot sleep, he rises and turns on the radio inside the tank.
He almost says, “General Watt.”
But instead he chooses, “Natalie?”
And after a moment…
“It’s so good to hear you tonight,” she says.
“I couldn’t sleep again,” explains the Old Man.
“Is everything all right? Are you still coming?”
“Yes. Everything is fine. We’re beyond Santa Fe and out in the grassy plains south of you. Maybe three more days and we’ll be there.”
“In two days, at exactly nine A.M., I need you to open the case and take out the Laser Target Designator. We need to test the device.”
“I don’t even really know the correct time,” said the Old Man. “I just guess.”
“The tank has a small clock near the commander’s seat. Set that clock using the tiny knob above it to 1:37 A.M., now.”
The Old Man did.
“The last time I knew exactly what time it was was just after a bomb exploded in my rearview mirror and disabled my car. It froze the clock at 2:06 P.M.”
I remember that after forty years.
“Why can’t you sleep?” asked Natalie. General Watt.
Silence.
“I was telling the children about baseball.”
“Maybe you’re just too excited to sleep?” she asked.
The Old Man thought about that.
