Premature night came inside the Federal Foods. Miller and Haden and Bud Brown handed out flashlights, the whole stock, about twenty. Norton clamoured loudly for them on behalf of his group, and received two. The lights bobbed here and there in the aisles like uneasy phantoms.
I held Billy against me and looked out through the loophole. The milky, translucent quality of the light out there hadn’t changed much; it was putting up the bags that had made the market so dark. Several times I thought I saw something, but it was only jumpiness. One of the others raised a hesitant false alarm.
Billy saw Turman again, and went to her eagerly, even though she hadn’t been over to sit for him all summer. She had one of the flashlights and handed it over to him amiably enough. Soon he was trying to write his name in light on the blank glass faces of the frozen-food cases. She seemed as happy to see him as he was to see her, and in a little while they came over. Hattie Turman was a tall, thin woman with lovely red hair just beginning to streak gray. A pair of glasses hung from an ornamental chain-the sort, I believe, it is illegal for anyone except middle-aged women to wear-on her breast.
“Is Stephanie here, David?” she asked.
“No. At home.” She nodded. “Alan, too. How long are you on watch here?”
“Until six.”
“Have you seen anything?”
“No. Just the mist.”
“I’ll keep Billy until six, if you like.”
“Would you like that, Billy?”
“Yes, please,” he said, swinging the flashlight above his head in slow arcs and watching it play across the ceiling.
“God will keep your Steffy, and Alan, too,” Turman said, and led Billy away by the hand. She spoke with serene sureness, but there was no conviction in her eyes.
Around five-thirty the sounds of excited argument rose near the back of the store.
Someone jeered at something someone else had said, and someone-it was Buddy Eagleton, I think-shouted, “You’re crazy if you go out there! ” Several of the flashlight beams pooled together at the center of the controversy, and they moved toward the front of the store. Carmody’s shrieking, derisive laugh split the gloom, as abrasive as fingers drawn down a slate blackboard.
Above the babble of voices came the boom of Norton’s courtroom tenor: “Let us pass, please! Let us pass!” The man at the loophole next to mine left his place to see what the shouting was about. I decided to stay where I was. Whatever the concatenation was, it was coming my way.
“Please,” Mike Hatlen was saying. “Please, let’s talk this thing through.”
“There is nothing to talk about,” Norton proclaimed. Now his face swam out of the gloom. It was determined and haggard and wholly wretched. He was holding one of the two flashlights allocated to the Flat-Earthers. The corkscrewed tufts of hair still stuck up behind his ears like a cuckold’s horns. He was at the head of an extremely small procession-five of the original nine or ten. “We are going out,” he said.
“Don’t stick to this craziness,” Miller said. “Mike’s right. We can talk it over, can’t we? McVey is going to barbecue some chicken over the gas grill, we can all sit down and eat and just—” He got in Norton’s way and Norton gave him a push. Miller didn’t like it. His face flushed and then set in a hard expression. “Do what you want, then,” he said. “But you’re as good as murdering these other people.” With all the evenness of great resolve or unbreakable obsession, Norton said:
“We’ll send help back for you.” One of his followers murmured agreement, but another quietly slipped away.
Now there was Norton and four others. Maybe that wasn’t so bad. Christ Himself could only find twelve.
“Listen,” Mike Hatlen said. ” Norton—Brent—at least stay for the chicken.
Get some hot food inside you.”
“And give you a chance to go on talking? I’ve been in too many courtrooms to fall for that. You’ve psyched out half a dozen of my people already.”
“Your people?” Haden almost groaned it. “Your people? Good Christ, what kind of talk is that? They’re people, that’s all. This is no game, and it’s surely not a courtroom.
There are, for want of a better word, there are things out there, and what’s the sense of getting, yourself killed?”
“Things, you say,” Norton said, sounding superficially amused. “Where? Your people have been on watch for a couple of hours now. Who’s seen one?”
“Well, out back. In the—”
“No, no, no,” Norton said, shaking his head. “That ground has been covered and covered. We’re going out—”
“No,” someone whispered, and it echoed and spread, sounding like the rustle of dead leaves at dusk of an October evening. No, no, no…
“Will you restrain us?” a shrill voice asked. This was one of Norton’s “people,” to use his word-an elderly lady wearing bifocals. “Will you restrain us ?” The soft babble of negatives died away.
“No,” Mike said. “No, I don’t think anyone will restrain you.
I whispered in Billy’s ear. He looked at me, startled and questioning. “Go on, now,” I said. “Be quick.” He went.
Norton ran his hands through his hair, a gesture as calculated as any ever made by a Broadway actor. I had liked him better pulling the cord of his chainsaw fruitlessly, cussing and thinking himself unobserved. I could not tell then and do not know any better now if he believed in what he was doing or not. I think, down deep, that he knew what was going to happen. I think that the logic he had paid lip service to all his life turned on him at the end like a tiger that has gone bad and mean.
He looked around restlessly, seeming to wish that there was more to say. Then he led his four followers through one of the checkout lanes. In addition to the elderly woman, there was a chubby boy of about twelve, a young girl, and a man in blue jeans wearing a golf cap tipped back on his head.
Norton’s eyes caught mine, widened a little, and then started to swing away.
“Brent, wait a minute,” I said.
“I don’t want to discuss it any further. Certainly not with you.
“I know you don’t. I just want to ask a favor.” I looked around and saw Billy coming back toward the checkouts at a run.
“What’s that?” Norton asked suspiciously as Billy came up and handed me a package done up in cellophane.
“Clothesline,” I said. I was vaguely aware that everyone in the market was watching us now, loosely strung out on the other side of the cash registers and checkout lanes. “It’s the big package. Three hundred feet.”
“So?”
“I wondered if you’d tie one end around your waist before you go out. I’ll let it out. When you feel it come up tight, just tie it around something. It doesn’t matter what.
A car door handle would do.”
“What in God’s name for?”
“It will tell me you got at least three hundred feet,” I said.
Something in his eyes flickered… but only momentarily. “No,” he said.
I shrugged. “Okay. Good luck, anyhow.” Abruptly the man in the golf cap said, “I’ll do it, mister. No reason not to.” Norton swung on him, as if to say something sharp, and the man in the golf cap studied him calmly. There was nothing flickering in his eyes. He had made his decision and there was simply no doubt in him. Norton saw it too and said nothing.
“Thanks,” I said.
I slit the wrapping with my pocketknife and the clothesline accordioned out in stiff loops. I found one loose end and tied it around Golf Cap’s waist in a loose granny.
He immediately untied it and cinched it tighter with a good quick sheet-bend knot. There was not a sound in the market. Norton shifted uneasily from foot to foot.
“You want to take my knife?” I asked the man in the golf cap.
“I got one.” He looked at me with that same calm contempt. “You just see to paying out your line. If it binds up, I’ll chuck her.”
“Are we all ready?” Norton asked, too loud. The chubby boy jumped as if he had been goosed. Getting no response, Norton turned to go.
“Brent,” I said, and held out my hand. “Good luck, man.
He studied my hand as if it were some dubious foreign object. “We’ll send back help,” he said finally, and pushed through the OUT door. That thin, acrid smell came in again. The others followed him out.
Mike Hatlen came down and stood beside me. Norton’s party of five stood in the milky, slow-moving fog. Norton said something and I should have heard it, but the mist seemed to have an odd damping effect. I heard nothing but the sound of his voice and two or three isolated syllables, like the voice on the radio heard from some distance. They moved off.