.
“Andrew,” the boy said. A long silence before the man spoke again.
“You live here?”
“Yeah.”
“Your parents live here?”
“No. They’re dead. I mean, my mother just died. My father died a long time ago.”
Howell rubbed his nose, squinting. “Well, you got someone you live with?”
“No. I live alone.” He hesitated, then inclined his head toward the window. “In The Fallows.”
“Huh.” Howell peered at him more closely. “Were you—some kind of drugs? I found you out there—” He gestured at the window. “Butt naked. In a blizzard.” He laughed hoarsely, then gazed pointedly at the boy. ‘’I’m just curious, that’s all. Stark naked in a snowstorm. Jesus Christ.”
Andrew picked at a scab on his knee. “I’m not on drugs,” he said at last. “I just got lost.” Suddenly he looked up, beseeching. “I’ll get out of your way. You don’t have to do anything. Okay? Like you don’t have to call anyone. I can just go back to my place.”
Howell yawned and stood slowly. “Well, not tonight. When they clear the roads.” He looked down at his feet, chagrined to see he still had his boots on. “I’m going to lie down for a little while. Still a few hours before morning.”
He smiled wanly and shuffled toward the bedroom, Festus following him. In the kitchen he paused to get his inhaler, then stared with mild disbelief at the counter where an unopened sack of dog food and six cans of Alpo stood next to a half-filled grocery bag.
“Festus,” he muttered, tearing open the sack. “I’ll be damned. I forgot Pete brought this.” He dumped, food into the dog’s bowl and glanced back at the boy staring puzzled into the kitchen.
“You can take a shower if you want,” suggested Howell. “In there. Towels, a robe. Help yourself.” Then he went to bed.
In the bathroom Andrew found bedpans, an empty oxygen tank, clean towels. He kicked his comforter outside the door, hesitated before retrieving it and folding it upon the sofa. Then he returned to the bathroom. Grimacing, he examined his reflection in the mirror. Dirt caked his pores. What might be scant stubble roughened his chin, but when he rubbed it, most came off onto his fingers in tiny black beads.
In the tub stood a white metal stool. Andrew settled on this and turned on the water. He squeezed handfuls of shampoo through his long hair until the water ran clear. Most of a bar of soap dissolved before be stepped out, the last of the hot water gurgling down the drain. On the door hung a thin green hospital robe, E. Howell printed on the collar in Magic Marker. Andrew flung this over his shoulders and stepped back into the living room.
Gray light flecked the windowpanes, enough light that finally he could explore the place. It was a small house, not much bigger than his abandoned cottage. Worn Navaho rugs covered flagstone floors in front of a stone fireplace, still heaped with dead ashes and the remains of a Christmas tree studded with blackened tinsel. Brass gaslight fixtures supported light bulbs and green glass shades. And everywhere about the room, pictures.
He could scarcely make out the cedar paneling beneath so many photographs. He crossed to the far wall stacked chest-high with tottering bookshelves. Above the shelves hung dozens of framed photos.
“Jeez.” Andrew shivered a little as he tied the robe.
Photos of Earthrise, moonrise. The Crab Nebula. The moon. He edged along the wall, reading the captions beside the NASA logo on each print.
Mare Smythii. Crater Gambart. Crater Copernicus. Crater Descartes. Sea of Tranquillity.
At wall’s end, beside the window, two heavy gold frames. The first held artwork from a
The other frame held an oversized cover of
Apollo 19: Farewell to Tranquillity.
Outside, the sun began to rise above Sugar Mountain. In the west glowed a three-quarter moon, fading as sunlight spilled down the mountainside. Andrew stood staring at it until his eyes ached, holding the moon there as long as he could. When it disappeared, he clambered back into bed.
When he woke later that morning, Andrew found Howell sitting in the same chair again, dozing with the dog Festus at his feet. Andrew straightened his robe and tried to slide quietly from bed. The dog barked. Howell blinked awake.
“Good morning,” he yawned, and coughed. “The phone lines are down.”
Andrew grinned with relief, then tried to look concerned. “How long before they’re up again?”
Howell scratched his jaw, his nails rasping against white stubble. “Day or two, probably. You said you live alone?”
Andrew nodded, reaching gingerly to let Festus sniff his hand. “So you don’t need to call anyone.” Howell rubbed the dog’s back with a slippered foot. “He’s usually pretty good with people,” he said as Festus sniffed and then tentatively licked Andrew’s hand. “That’s good, Festus. You hungry—?”
He stumbled, forgetting the boy’s name.
“Andrew,” the boy said, scratching the dog’s muzzle. “Good dog. Yeah, I guess I am.”
Howell waved toward the kitchen. “Help yourself. My son brought over stuff the other day, on the counter in there. I don’t eat much now.” He coughed again and clutched the chair’s arms until the coughing stopped. Andrew stood awkwardly in the center of the room.
“I have cancer,” Howell said, fumbling in his robe’s pockets until he found a pill bottle. Andrew stared a moment longer before going into the kitchen.
Inside the grocery bag he found wilted lettuce, several boxes of frozen dinners, now soft and damp, eggs and bread and a packet of spoiled hamburger meat. He sniffed this and his mouth watered, but when he opened the package the smell sickened him and he hastily tossed it into the trash. He settled on eggs, banging around until he found skillet and margarine. He ate them right out of the pan. After a hasty cleanup he returned to the living room.
“Help yourself to anything you want,” said Howell. “I have clothes, too, if you want to get changed.”
Andrew glanced down at his robe and shrugged. “Okay. Thanks.” He wandered to the far wall and stared a moment at the photos again. “You’re an astronaut,” he said.
Howell nodded. “That’s right.”
“That must’ve been pretty cool.” He pointed to the Men of the Year portrait. “Did you fly the shuttle?”
“Christ, no. That was after my time. We were Apollo. The moon missions.”
Andrew remained by the wall, nodding absently. He wanted to leave, but how? He couldn’t take off right away, leave this man wondering where he lived, how he’d get there in three feet of snow. He’d wait until tonight. Leave a note, the robe folded on a chair. He turned back to face Howell.
“That must’ve been interesting.”
Howell stared at him blankly, then laughed. “Probably the most interesting thing
“Can’t breathe,” he whispered. Andrew stared at him and coughed nervously himself.
Howell sighed, the hissing of a broken bellows. “I wanted to go back. I was queued next time as commander.” He tugged at the sleeves of his robe, pulling the cuffs over bony wrists. “They canceled it. The rest of the program. Like that.” He tried to snap his fingers. They made a dry small sound. “Money. Then the rest. The explosion. You know.”
Andrew nodded, rolling up his sleeves until they hung evenly. “I remember that.”
Howell nodded. “Everydoes. But the moon. Do you remember that?”
Andrew shook his head.
“You forget it?” said Howell, incredulous.
“I wasn’t born,” said Andrew. He leaned against the wall, bumping a frame. “I’m only fourteen.”
“Fourteen,” repeated Howell. “And you never saw? In school, they never showed you?”
The boy shrugged. “The shuttle, I saw tapes of that. At school, maybe. I don’t remember.”
