Джек Макдевитт - A Voice in the Night

How about a walk down by the river?

“How’s the book?”

She was about halfway through. “Quite good,” she answered brightly. She looked at him again, and he felt opportunity beckon. What next? He could only think of the pain that would come with being sneered at by this lovely creature. And of the certainty that she would respond to any initiative in just that way. She sat resplendent in late afternoon sunlight, end-of-the-day sunlight, dazzling against the fading, pedestrian world around her. How often, he wondered, had the Traveler floated invisible beside her?

Was it there now? He didn’t necessarily take his visitor at its word.

She seemed suddenly to recall something she’d forgotten. She held up one slim wrist to glance at her watch, and frowned. “I didn’t realize it was so late,” she said. She rose, and, without another word, snatched up her bag and strode off into the deepening evening.

He was too embarrassed to go back to the wind screen. The prospect of trying to explain himself to the Traveler was painful. Damn the thing anyway. Arnold sat up late that night, watching TV, and later reading a techno thriller, unable to concentrate on either. Linda filled his mind. And the Grand Forks weather man predicted high winds and unseasonable rain tomorrow.

It started in the early morning. By the time he went downstairs to open up, a fifty-five mile-an-hour gale had developed. It rattled the old building and drove everyone off the streets.

Arnold tended an empty store. He put some tape on the windows as a precaution, and set up a portable TV back of the cash register, to follow the weather reports. Grand Forks thought conditions would abate shortly after midday. Meantime, high winds were sweeping the prairie from northern Manitoba into South Dakota.

They were doing some damage. They blew over Curt Gaarstad’s garage and knocked out a few windows and picked up the bright new metal sign over Ed’s Supermarket and lost it. Nobody ever saw it again. They also caught a shipment of shingles and roofing material down at the lumber yard and scattered it around town. The remainder of the dead leaves deposited at Floyd’s (about half had been trucked away) went south, and they too vanished out over the prairie.

The wind blew throughout the early morning. It banged and clattered and hammered at the store, but Arnold felt safe because he’d been through similar storms countless times before. Light rain fell occasionally, the drops driven before the gusts, and smeared across Arnold’s windows.

Janet called around ten to explain that they’d lost a storm door, and that she would be late. Arnold suggested she stay home until the weather settled. “Nothing happening here anyway.”

He looked out at the deserted street and fretted for the Traveler. The few trees along Bannister Avenue heaved and writhed.

Finally, he could stand it no longer. At a quarter to eleven, he broke with custom, with his own iron law, and locked up. He got his car out of the garage, drove to Fifth Street, and turned right. No other traffic was moving.

He pulled as close to the wind screen as he could get, and climbed out. The wind knocked him over, took his breath away. He struggled upslope, into the trees. They provided no shelter whatever. He cupped his hands around his mouth and tried to shout over the incessant roar. “Traveler.”

But it was hopeless. Twigs, pebbles, debris pelted him. He struggled back to the jogging path, and tried again.

In the distance, he could see more rain coming.

“Traveler.”

The storm howled.

And after a short time, while sheets of rain sliced like knives through the wind screen, Arnold retreated, cold, drenched, breathless, to his car.

He spent a long, dreary, frightening day. He was uncertain about the capabilities of his visitor, or its limitations. He feared the worst, that it might have been overwhelmed by the storm. Heavy rains washed down after the winds had subsided. They beat steadily against the windows over at Clint’s, while Arnold poked at a hamburger and French fries. He stayed in the restaurant, ordering coffee, and then beer, preferring company tonight. And on this evening, most especially, he resented the Traveler. I may have lost you, and there is not even anyone with whom I can talk.

It was still raining steadily when he crossed back to the hardware store, and went up to his apartment to wait out the storm. The ten o’clock news reported it had already ended, but Arnold saw no change until well after midnight. Then, while the night grew suddenly still, he went back once more to the wind screen.

“Hello, Arnold.” The voice reached out to him while he was still on the slope.

“Traveler, are you okay?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“Where were you yesterday? I couldn’t find you.”

“I was right here.”

“Why didn’t you answer me?”

Laughter rippled through the wet trees. “Too much competition. The voice of the storm was far louder than mine. But I appreciate your concern.”

Arnold would have liked to clasp the creature, to pound its shoulder, shake its hand. “I wish I could touch you,” he said.

A warm current flowed around him. “You have.”

The ground was soggy. There was no dry place to sit. “I just wanted to be sure you were all right.”

“I’m fine.”

Arnold was still only at the edge of the trees. His shoes and trousers were soaked from the wet grass. “I’m going home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“What about Linda?”

“It didn’t work out.”

“Couldn’t you have done more with the book? That was your wedge, Arnold.”

“I did the best I could.”

“Sometimes you behave as if you’ve lived most of your life in another world.”

The Traveler seemed bigger somehow. As if it had absorbed river and trees. And the town, and even the endless plain beyond. “Look,” he said, “the only way I would be able to get her to come here with me would be at gunpoint.”

“You underrate yourself. You are in fact quite handsome, except when you’re trying to make an impression or are frightened.”

“That’s not what I mean,” he said defensively.

“You should try again.”

“I’ve had enough.”

“You need to stand up straight. You slouch when you’re under pressure. Look her right in the eye. Go for the book. That’s your key.”

“I can’t do any of this. You’re asking me to change the habits of a lifetime.”

“It might help if you gave up the rumpled look. Get your trousers pressed. Maybe invest in a suede jacket. Get rid of the baggy sweater.”

“I like this sweater. I’ve had it a long time.”

“I can see that.”

“And anyway, do you have any idea what a suede jacket costs?”

“Wouldn’t she be worth it?”

“No. I’m not going back there. She walked off and left me sitting on the bench. She has no interest in me.”

“All right, Arnold. This time, I’ll help you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can move warm air. Stimulate her. She will find you very attractive.”

“You wouldn’t do that.” Arnold was horrified. “What are you thinking of?”

His night was filled with visions of Linda. He threw damp sheets off and stared listlessly into the dark abyss over his bed while the wind beat against the side of the house. Where was the Traveler now? Was it perhaps influencing him in some darkly subtle way, as it claimed it could influence the woman? The creature seemed so amiable, but now he had seen how devious it could be.