Gene Wolfe - Home Fires

The shouting continued, and the deepest-mouthed drum took it up, not beaten but scraped by the callused fingers of its owner.

After a time that might have been five minutes or ten, another drum joined it, beaten, but beaten so slowly that the woman on the chair might have shouted a hundred words, or twice a hundred, between its chthonic thuddings.

“That’s not a regular drum, is it?” Chelle, already sitting as close as possible, whispered her question into his ear.

Skip shook his head. “A hollow log. The ends are plugged, and there’s a cut down the middle to let the sound out.”

“Can you see it from here? I can’t.”

“I noticed it while we were dancing.”

“They were all looking at us. Did you notice that, too?”

Skip nodded.

A new woman seated not far from them began to howl, a wordless, animal sound.

Chelle leaned forward. “Will the dead come, Achille?”

“Many come, lady. Many dead.”

A third drum joined in with an excited tapping; and Skip, following the gaze of others, saw the wire-wrapped gate swing open.

The woman who entered walked stiffly. Her unblinking stare focused nowhere, on nothing.

The woman on the chair ceased shouting to issue an abrupt command.

The newcomer’s mouth closed.

“We used to hold the whole of Johanna,” Chelle said. “The Os drove us off most of it. Then our Navy shot up their fleet, and we started driving them back. That was when I got there. Reinforcements, you know.” Chelle’s tone was almost conversational.

A woman on the farther side of the enclosure screamed, “Ottilie!”

Slowly, the newcomer turned toward her.

“We kept driving them back and driving them back,” Chelle continued. “We retook a lot of positions that had been lost the year before.”

A man had shuffled through the open gate, a man whose empty face seemed little more than skin stretched across a skull.

“Our people tried to take our dead with them when they pulled out, but a lot got left. They were buried, mostly, when their trenches and blockhouses were knocked down. I didn’t have to help dig the fucking corpses up, thank God, but I was around when it was done.”

“I see,” Skip said.

“So I saw them, and they smelled like—”

“There you are!” Vanessa had stepped through the gate. She smiled and waved. “What in the world are you two doing here?”

Chelle gaped.

Skip motioned to Vanessa, and the crowd parted for her like water, people scrambling to their feet or scuttling across the stone floor.

Smiling, she crouched before them. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you two.”

Skip said, “How did you find us?”

“I met a local woman, that’s all. She told me to go to the other side of the mountain and follow the sound of the drums, so I did. The gate was open and I came right in.”

* * *

When the ceremony was over, Achille led them to a small, dark house. “Mambo come soon,” he promised.

“We’re going to miss the launch,” Vanessa remarked. She did not sound unhappy about it.

“We already have.” Skip glanced at his watch. “It’s one fifteen.”

“Then there’s no point in hurrying.”

Chelle said, “They were dead. Those people you came in with.”

“Were they, darling? I didn’t notice.”

Skip shook his head. “I know they looked dead, and they smelled dead, too. But I won’t believe anybody can make the dead walk again.”

“Mambo make dead rise, mon. She wants, they come. Kill you, mon. Anything she say.”

Chelle looked around nervously. “You called her Tante Élise before.”

“Is her name. She Mambo.”

“Like I’m a mastergunner?”

Skip said, “More or less, I believe. My guess is that is means Reverend.”

The door of the dark house opened behind him as he spoke. The tall woman who led the dance gestured, and Achille trotted inside. Vanessa followed him quite nonchalantly.

“Are you going in?” Chelle sounded resolute.

“We’ve come all this way to see her—and missed the Rani , I’m afraid.”

Vanessa glanced back at them. “No, no! They won’t actually sail until high tide.”

“And that is…?”

“About eight o’clock. It’s just that the launches don’t run after midnight. We can find a boat and hire it.”

Chelle muttered something, and Vanessa added, “Trust your mother.”

A candle, short but very thick, kindled in the middle of the room. It was followed by two more on a tiny mantel. Nothing and no one had lit them, so far as Skip could tell. The large woman Achille called Tante Élise held out her hand.

“You give money,” Achille instructed them. “You no give, she no speak.”

Chelle opened her purse. “How much?”

“Money, lady!” He sounded angry. “You know money? Give money! Some you got.”

“She must be a lawyer.” Chelle dropped five noras into the outstretched hand.

The tall woman closed it without glancing at the bills. “What is it you wish?”

“I’ve come to buy a handgun. This man says you sell them. I want one, and I’ll pay you well for a good one.”

“Will you carry it?”

Chelle nodded.

“Where?”

“That will depend on the gun.”

For a moment, it seemed that the tall woman might smile. “You can shoot?”

“Hell, yes.”

“I didn’t have to pay her at all,” Vanessa whispered. “She just came up to me.”

Skip pretended he had not heard.

“You buy for this man.”

Chelle shook her head. “For me.”

“I will show you three. You may choose. If you do not choose, three more. If you do not choose, you must go.”

“I understand.”

The tall woman turned and left, moving as soundlessly as any cat.

Vanessa said, “She’s really quite kind.”

Skip chuckled. “Let’s hope you’re a good judge of character.”

Chelle said, “I trust her. I don’t like her, but I trust her. That’s odd, isn’t it?”

“Not really. She has dignity, and people who have it keep their word for the most part.”

“Like you.”

He shook his head. “Hardly.”

The tall woman returned and handed Chelle a gun. It was of bright metal. One grip was pearl, the other of some dark wood.

Chelle shook it, pulled back the slide, and handed it back. “This was a good one once, but it’s fired a hell of a lot of rounds. I’d like to see it rebuilt, but I can’t rebuild it with what I’ve got here.”

The tall woman nodded. “This is not so dear.”

It was a revolver. Chelle cocked the hammer and tried to move the cylinder. “It’s good,” she said, “but only six shots. Let me see something else.”

The tall woman nodded approvingly. “We are seven here.” The third gun was dark and dull, and almost impossibly narrow; Skip saw Chelle’s eyes widen.

“It is this that you wish,” the tall woman said.

“You’re right. All right if I call you Tante Élise?”

The tall woman nodded again.

“I’ll buy it if I have enough money, Tante Élise. How much?”

“And a hundred rounds of ammunition?”

Chelle nodded.

“We must see.” The tall woman beckoned to Achille. “Take that candle. We go out. Light our way.”

Achille did, grasping the thick candle by digging the points of his hooks into the wax; he looked more frightened than ever.

“Is that loaded?” Skip asked.

Chelle said, “The chamber indicator says so.”

“Stop here,” the tall woman told them. She pointed to Achille. “Walk forward until another prevents you.”

Chelle said, “You can speak your language to him if you want. I’m sure he’ll understand you better.”

The tall woman did not reply.