The Bavarian Gate By John Dalmas

Well, he reminded himself, he at least had his memories and all the things he’d learned. He patted the wallet in his jacket pocket: It held six dollars, and the picture of Varia his mother had given him when he’d mentioned not having one.

And he had a destination, too. He and Varia had talked about maybe going there someday. And the clone-Liiset or whoever she was-had probably never even heard of Oregon.

2

The Jungle Outside Miles City, Montana

It was night. Curtis Macurdy stood amidst sparse brush, watching stew simmer in a gallon lard pail. Sitting or squatting around him were seven men as hungry as he. Other fires, more or less scattered, flickered in the darkness; it seemed to him that more men rode freight trains these days than rode passenger coaches. President Roosevelt talked about economic recovery, and people were halfway hopeful, but times were hard. Perhaps Perhaps hardest on those men, some no longer young, who’d left families behind, dependent on kinfolk, while they rode freight trains to California’s orange groves, Idaho’s potato farms, Arizuna’s irrigated cotton fields, where rumor said jobs could be found.

In the hobo jungle, most were unemployed working men; around this fire, only the grizzled oldtimer who called himself Dutch was not; Dutch and possibly one other. Dutch had lived on the bum a dozen years-since his house had burned with his wife in it.

The other was a seemingly crazy man, whom the rest of them avoided. His eyes were strange, and his lips moved in swift and silent monolog. Usually silent; at times he muttered a monotone of obscenities, the words almost too rapid to recognize. The man’s aura was small and murky, its colors indistinct, brownish, with tinges of what might have been indigo. On one side, close to the head, it was black. Focusing more sharply, Macurdy got a sense of apathy, self-destruction; dying.

Dutch put a stick under the pail’s wire bail and lifted the stew carefully from the coals. Most of the others got to their feet, anticipating. “Okay,” Dutch said, “don’t crowd. You’ll get yours.” Only Macurdy and a burly Indian held back; they and the crazy man. The pail belonged to Dutch, but most of them had contributed to the contents-a tin of beef, one of beans, another of stewed tomatoes, a carrot, a couple of potatoes…. Macurdy’s contribution had been a sausage, which Dutch had cut up small. Some of the men had only tin cans to eat from-soup or bean cans, mostly-their roughcut openings hammered carefully smooth with rocks so a man could drink from them. Dutch, like Macurdy, had an army canteen cup.

“Go ahead,” Macurdy said when their turn had come. The Indian looked at him a moment, then held his can out, and Dutch ladled it full with a spoon. Macurdy felt a twinge of guilt at taking any. He’d learned to draw energy from the Web of the World when he needed to, though Vulkan had told him he’d need to eat fairly regularly for other needs. But his stomach grumbled and complained when unfed. Besides, refusing food would make him seem too peculiar.

Macurdy too had a spoon. The stew wasn’t bad, he decided, the serving small but thick. Dutch’s bindle held salt and pepper. Dutch was looking at the crazy man now. “You better have some,” he said at last. “When this is gone, there won’t be no more till we rustle up the makings.”

The crazy man’s lips had stopped. Slowly he got to his feet, staring intently not at the pail but at Dutch, then limped over and stood empty handed, left shoulder hunched.

“Ain’t you got no can?” Dutch asked. The shaggy head shook a negative. “Anybody got a can for this guy?” No one answered.

“Where’s that bean can we had? That’ll work.”

His canteen cup in one hand, Macurdy went to where the can lay, and brought it to the crazy man. Its inner rim was jagged with teeth of tinned steel, formed by opening it with a jack knife.

The man held it out to Dutch.

“No hurry” Dutch said. “Hammer down the edges first, or you’ll cut yourself.”

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149

Leave a Reply 0

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *