“Who’s Jenny?”
“The baby-sitter.”
“Ma out somewhere?”
“That’s why Jenny’s here.”
“Think she’ll be back soon?”
“Who?”
“Mom. Your ma.”
“She’s in New York.”
“New York?”
“She’s going to bring me some souvenirs.”
“Barry go with her?”
“He’s here. Want to talk to him?”
“No. Is it for work or something like that?”
“He e-trades at night.”
“I meant Mom. Your ma.”
“I don’t know.”
“When’s she coming back?”
“Tomorrow?”
“What did she… I mean, why all of a-”
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“I’m watching The Simpsons.”
Roy didn’t answer right away; he was having air supply problems.
“Dad?”
“I’m here. Done your homework?”
“Most of it.”
“Okay. Talk to you tomorrow.”
“Bye.”
“Love you.”
But the last line was spoken to the dial tone.
TEN
A horseman with a smudged face bore down on Roy, saber flashing under the moon. Roy felt in his pocket for a gun, but of course he had no gun. Worse, he was wearing the ball and chain.
Roy reached for the phone. “Hello?” The bedside clock read three something; Roy’s vision was blurry.
“Sorry if it’s a little late,” said Gordo. “I can’t sleep.”
“It’s all right.”
“I’m handling it pretty good, Roy.”
“Yeah?”
“Except for the not sleeping part. Guess where I am?”
“Uh-oh.”
Gordo laughed, a laugh that went on a little too long, wavering on the verge of something else. “At the camp,” Gordo said.
“What camp?”
“Our camp, Roy. Seventh Tennessee. I’m on my cell.”
“You’re out there now?”
“On patrol.”
“I thought the camp was only on weekends.”
“Right. The tents aren’t up.”
“Are you alone?”
“I see the stars. I hear the rolling thunder.”
“There’s no thunder.”
“It’s from a song.” Gordo sang it: “ ‘I see the stars. I hear the rolling thunder.’ “ His singing voice surprised Roy: Gordo did much more than get the notes right.
“ ‘How Great Thou Art,’ “ Roy said.
“You listen to gospel, Roy?”
“Not really.” “How Great Thou Art” wasn’t one of his favorites, didn’t do to him what “Milky White Way” did, but he liked how the drummer made a booming sound whenever the rolling thunder part came along. Could Sonny Junior make a booming sound like that, on his drum kit in the barn? Roy had the crazy idea of getting Gordo and Sonny Junior together.
“Still there, Roy?”
Roy thought he heard crickets. “Aren’t you a little cold?” he said.
“Got my cape.”
“Cape?”
“Regulation cape. Part of the uniform, Roy.”
“You’re wearing your uniform?”
“And bucking for corporal.”
Pause. Crickets for sure.
“Maybe there’s no thunder,” Gordo said, “but the stars part is true.”
“Must be nice,” Roy said.
“No sign of life at all, life as we know it,” Gordo said. “The sky glows over in the east-I got that right, east? — but that doesn’t have to be life as we know it. Could be a distant fire. Like… like a wooden town going up in flames.”
Roy remembered the long path up from the parking lot and past the cabins to the tents in the forest. “Got a flashlight?” he said.
“Nope. Just my musket.”
“Not loaded,” Roy said.
“We just fire the powder, Roy, you know that. Although…”
“Although what?”
“Roy?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m about to tell you something very important.”
Roy thought of the oxidized bullet from Kennesaw Mountain and got afraid. But what was there to fear from spent bullets?
“Are you listening?” Gordo said.
“Yes.”
“This is the most un-fucked-up place I’ve ever been.”
Gordo’s laugh that had wavered on the edge of something else? The something else was happening now.
“Gordo?”
“I’m not upset.”
“Does Brenda know where you are?”
“Let’s not talk about her. I’m not exactly persona whatever it is. She was going to cut back to part-time, with the p-p-promotion and all.”
Silence. Roy heard crickets, and another sound, a rumble.
“Hear that?” said Gordo. “Thunder.”
