Ellen Datlow - Tails of Wonder and Imagination

It’s going to be too bad… I mean the big disaster… there are so many nice people in the world like these people at the hospital. It’s a shame so many of them will have to die. I’m trying to tell them but they won’t listen.

I don’t go for the free meal, though that would have been nice. I haven’t had any vegetables for a long time. But I’m worried they’ll stop me. I know it looks bad, an old lady with a big bundle walking— walking! —across the country. I’ll have to try to think of a good reason for doing it. Maybe for some cause or other like breast cancer. Why didn’t I think of that before?

By evening I finally come to the hill. The road climbs back and forth. It’s still a wide and sweeping four lanes. This is going to be hard. Dangerous, too. A good place for a landslide.

I struggle on. Not a single good place to rest. Everything on a slant.

A silvery sporty car stops next to me. The top down. It’s the doctor. Just the sort of car to go with his mustache. What’s he doing way out here?

He says he doesn’t like how I look. It’s twilight. How come he can see me so well?

He’s popped the trunk.

“Put your cart in back.”

I step off the road on the rocky down side. He can’t follow. Not in the car.

But he’s out and is opening the passenger door for me. “I’ll drive you.”

Thank goodness it’s almost dark. And it’s even darker in the shadows of the boulders where Natty and I hide. Natty’s a talkative cat, but he knows not to make a sound.

The doctor calls a few more times. “I can help.”

Exactly what I don’t want most is help.

Finally he drives off.

What now? Are they going to be chasing me? Capture the crazy woman? Do I have something else to worry about? Why do they care?

I’m going to walk on through the night. It’s safer.

Whenever a car goes by, I hide in the ditch. It’s not easy, what with my cart and all. At least you can see the cars coming from a long ways off.

We reach the top of the hill. Now the road will be flat again for a nice long while.

Finally, there in the ditch, I just have to stay and sleep.

In the morning I see there’s somebody else walking along, way, way, way ahead of me—by about six miles I’d say. Here the road is so straight and flat and there’s so few trees you can see for miles. I think the next hillock is probably about twelve miles away.

Hours pass, but I’m catching up. He doesn’t stop to rest. I don’t either. What if he, too, has funny feelings? And there’ll be safety in numbers. For me at least. Maybe if the doctor sees I have somebody… especially a man… he won’t bother me anymore.

I get all shaky with hope. Somebody else, maybe, who knows what I and Natty know. He won’t think I’m crazy.

Finally, he sits down. It takes me half an hour to catch up, and then I walk past so as to take a good look first.

We’re both elderly. We’re both skinny from so much walking. We’re both browned by the sun and have chapped lips. We both have big hats. I got mine when I started wondering about crossing the desert.

He stares as I go by. He’s wondering about me as much as I’m wondering about him. He has a cart much bigger and sturdier than mine. More like a wheelbarrow, only he’s rigged it with a loop around his waist so he can pull it. I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t have a tent. And there’s a frying pan tied on top. I’ll bet he never hitch hikes. He’s got too much stuff.

He’s found a nice spot to rest. There’s an arroyo and actually a few spindly cottonwoods growing along the banks. Not exactly giving shade. Under the road is a culvert for when there’s water in the arroyo. That’ll be where he pees.

I turn around and come back.

He looks like a country person… farmer or some such… though by now I may not look like I’m from the city either.

Before I sit down (not too close), I search the sky. Out here you can see a lot of it.

I say, “So far everything is fine.”

He doesn’t bother answering. It’s clear that it is.

We sit silently but I can’t tell if it’s a comfortable silence or an uncomfortable one.

Natty’s the only one who gives a questioning, “Yeow?”

When the man gets up to go on, I do, too. He didn’t ask me to come, but he didn’t say not to.

It’s evening and this was a good spot to spend the night, but off he goes. He may be trying to get away from us. Some people don’t like cats.

Is he going to walk all night? I don’t dare ask. If I ask he may tell me not to follow.

We go on and on. Towards morning he comes to a group of spindly trees. I stay about twenty yards behind so as not to be a bother. I collapse just off the road. In the ditch so to speak. At least there’s enough run-off for there to be bushes all along the road side. Almost like the edges of the rivers. I don’t even have the energy to get us our can of cat food.

I wake up late the next morning. To the sound of traffic—if you can call one car about every ten minutes traffic. My feet are tingling even more than before. Whatever it is is coming closer.

I study the sky. Not a cloud in sight. Not a tree either except for the clump where the man camped. He’s gone on ahead. He’s already a few miles down the road. Maybe he does mind us following but I’m not going to let him get away.

I and Natty eat our cat food and hurry after him. We’re faster than he is, what with that big bundle he has to pull.

It’s such a nice morning. All along the roadside the rabbit brush is in bloom. A bright yellow. I hum in spite of whatever disasters might be on the way. You don’t have to mope around just because your feet tingle and the world is full of depressing things and something really, really big and horrible is about to happen.

Pretty soon we’re almost up to where I want to walk—just a few yards behind the man.

So far he hasn’t said a single word.

But here’s the doctor’s silvery car again. I’m not expecting him. I don’t have time to even think of hiding.

The old man stops, turns around and watches.

It really does look as if we’re together and as if the old man’s waiting for me.

I run up and grab the old man’s arm.

Before the doctor leans out the window and says anything, I say, “I’m walking for breast cancer. I forgot to tell you.”

“But I can help. I can help you both.”

“He’s walking for breast cancer, too.”

The two of us and our bundles and Natty wouldn’t fit in the doctor’s little car, anyway.

“We don’t want to get helped.”

One nice thing, the old man is letting me hang on to his bony elbow. I wasn’t sure he would, seeing as how he’s always walking off without me and without a word.

And then he does talk.

“She’s with me.”

His voice croaks out as if he never uses it… and I guess he never does.

“Why don’t you people go to our shelter? Get yourself cleaned up? Get a rest? How old are you, anyway? I don’t want you having a heart attack out here.”

The man says, “Young enough to walk all day.”

The doctor grabs my other arm, the one holding my cart. Natty is sitting on top of it in his usual spot. He lashes out and the doctor gets four good scratches all along his hand.

I let go of my cart, I can’t help it, and it bounces down into the ditch and tips over. I run down to see if Natty is hurt and so does the old man. The doctor doesn’t. He’s looking at his scratches. What kind of a doctor is that?