Gene Wolfe - Home Fires

Skip watched Achille’s advance. He moved cautiously, clearly hoping he would be told to halt. The flame of his candle flickered and twice seemed ready to go out, though Skip felt no breath of wind.

Suddenly the candlelight showed a dark figure with arms outstretched to bar Achille’s way.

“Give him the candle,” the tall woman said. “Turn to look at us. Stand straight. Stand still. Will you move?”

Achille shook his head violently.

“Do not move your head. Do not speak.”

The dark figure behind him placed the short, thick candle upon Achille’s head and held it there.

“If you wish the gun you hold,” the tall woman told Chelle, “you must shoot out the flame.”

Almost casually, the gun came up. Chelle’s grip tightened and she fired—long before Skip had expected it.

The candle winked out and the tall woman said, “This gun is my gift to both of you.”

“Thank you!” Chelle was smiling broadly. “Thank you very much! Now we have to buy a gun for my mother.”

The goats and sheep and hogs are still abroad, though the maiden and her bananas are no longer to be seen. Was she at the temple? I doubt it, but it is certainly possible. There were a great many people there shouting and jumping, forever standing up and sitting down. She may have been among them. She may have danced with us. Or not.

The man who barred Achille’s way was dead. So Achille says, and I believe him—or at least, I believe that he believes he’s telling the truth. The dead man stood behind him, taller than he, to make him stand still. What fear had the dead man of Chelle’s bullet? He was already dead.

Or at least, believed he was.

Our headlights show us animals, first a dog in the road, then a goat. There is something Satanic about goats, and there was something very Satanic about this one, with its beard and S-shaped horns. How easy it would be to think the ceremony Satanic, though there was no invocation of Satan. Only strange but unforgotten African gods. There were holy cards in Tante Élise’s house.

Can God hate people so cheerful in their poverty?

Chelle, her head upon my lap, snores softly, stirs, and sleeps again. Achille is asleep in the front seat. From the jump seat, Vanessa stares out at the night in silence. Neither of us wish to wake Chelle. Certainly I do not.

* * *

Don , she whispers. Don … Then something else; I catch the word dead , but nothing more. Is Don dead? I hope so.

She bought Vanessa a little automatic, a thing like a piece of jewelry. Silver-plated, I think, though it might be chrome. If I were to see it in sunlight I might be able to tell, or so I think. She said it was old but could not have fired more than two hundred rounds in all its many years. Vanessa fired it at a tree—seven shots.

Seven of us were present, Tante Élise said. Chelle, Vanessa, Achille, Tante Élise herself, the dead man, and me. She must have counted our driver as well though he was asleep in his taxi, so far away that the shooting did not wake him.

I will stop the driver when we reach the summit, but only if Chelle is awake.

Vanessa went to this side of the mountain and followed the sound of the drums. Went how? Followed how? I would have assumed that the social director would remain aboard, as perhaps she did until Tante Élise came for her.

Achille has his hundred noras. He will attach himself to us, if he can. And I will scrape him off, unless I find him useful.

Of what use he might be once we leave this island, I cannot imagine.

Vanessa leans back. Her eyes are closed. Does she sleep? I would be wise to sleep, perhaps, if I can. Will I drop Chelle … if I do?

* * *

Drums in my dreams. Drums and dancers? Was the ceremony a dream, too? The blood and the dying, gasping animals? Does Chelle have a gun, and Vanessa? Chelle’s will be in her purse, surely. It has fallen to the floor. When I try to reach it, she stirs. Do her eyelids flutter? It is too dark to see.

At the summit, I will tell her I want to get out. My legs must rest from her weight for a while.

And I want to look at the stars.

The Rani was gone. Fog or no fog, there could be no doubt of it. A smaller vessel might still have been in port, invisible behind the goblin curtains that had become its atmosphere; no fog could have hidden the Rani ’s long white hull and towering masts in so small a harbor.

Skip glanced at his watch. “You said they wouldn’t sail before eight. It’s seven thirty-five.”

“They weren’t supposed to.” Vanessa was scanning the fishing boats.

Chelle said, “They told you that, Mother?”

“Yes. Absolutely. I was worried about the passengers who might be left behind. Captain Kain told me there’d be boatmen hanging around the docks offering to ferry people back, and he wouldn’t up anchor until high tide. So I wanted to know when that was, and he said eight o’clock.”

Achille asked, “What you do, mon?”

“Give chase,” Skip said. “They can’t have been gone long. If it weren’t for this mist, we might be able to see them. There are men working on that boat.” He pointed with his walking stick.

“Yes, mon. I see.”

“Run over there. Tell them we’ll pay them if they can get us to the Rani .”

Achille dashed away.

The boat was small, and smelled of fish twice as much as was to be expected. Chelle sprang aboard it without assistance; Skip climbed in more cautiously, and together they helped Vanessa aboard. Their crew of three raised worn brown sails spread wide by gaffs, after which the younger men manned sweeps while the owner took the tiller.

Chelle’s hand found Skip’s. “What if we can’t catch them?”

“We go to Hispaniola. There should be an airport there, and if we’re as lucky as five people can be, we may be able to charter a plane to fly us to the next port on the tour.”

“Someone who can get that much fuel.…”

“Exactly. Which is why we’ll need wonderful luck. It will cost a great deal, if we can do it at all. This boat won’t, so it’s worth a try.”

Vanessa joined them. “There are only four of us, and the beggar won’t be boarding the Rani with us.”

Chelle said, “Tante Élise said there were seven people there. Remember, Mother? I think she thought any gun—”

Skip had his finger to his lips.

“Well, you know. Anyway I thought about that, about seven, and the man who stopped Achille made six. We four, Tante Élise, and him. So there was somebody else.”

Vanessa said, “Skip?”

“I simply meant that we would need more luck than four could have.”

The rowers shipped their sweeps as the sails filled. The owner shouted at them, and one climbed the foremast with an agility Skip could only envy.

Vanessa was taking off her shoes. “They make it hard to balance,” she told Chelle.

“You think he’s hiding something, don’t you?”

“Surely not, darling.” Vanessa’s smile was angelic.

The man at the masthead shouted and pointed, then slid down.

“We catch,” Achille said. “Catch today, mon.”

Chelle asked, “Will we, Skip?”

“I think so. There isn’t a lot of wind, and it takes a pretty good wind to move a ship like the Rani fast.”

From his place at the tiller, the owner nodded and grinned. “You sleep beeg boat.”

Chelle went to the bow, where Skip soon joined her. “Am I intruding?”

“I was hoping you’d come.” She put her arm through his. “I wanted to talk to you in private.”

“What about?”

“Lots of things. Can I start with the Army?”