Лоуренс Блок - Random Walk - A Novel for a New Age

“Uh-huh.”

“But if we do that we’ve got this whole stretch from Forsyth to Miles City where Route 12 becomes part of the Interstate. Now it looks as though there are stretches of road alongside it, so we wouldn’t have to go all that way right on 1-94, but maybe we’re better off cutting south right after Forsyth on 447 and picking up 212 at either Lame Deer or Ashland. We’re a long ways from the mountains, so it doesn’t matter how rough the road is. The only thing against it is it means committing to 212 and the southern route, and I was thinking I wouldn’t be deciding that until Miles City.” He shrugged. “That what you wanted to know?”

“Well, not really, hoss.”

“Oh?”

“Thing is, I was thinking in long-range terms. Oh, hell, I’ll just come out and ask it. Are we on our way to Washington?”

“Washington? Oh, you mean D.C.”

“Of course I mean D.C. If we’re bound for Washington State you got a pretty unusual sense of direction.”

“Washington, D.C.,” Guthrie said. “Why would we be going there?”

“Well, some of the folks were talking, and they seemed to take it for granted that was where we’re going. To make some sort of protest.”

“A protest? You mean like a peace march?”

“I guess.”

“Jesus,” Guthrie said.

“Because I didn’t think that’s what this was, but—”

“Christ, I certainly hope not. You mean assholes making speeches? Guitars, ‘We Shall Overcome,’ all of that stuff?”

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t get involved in all of that political crap,” Guthrie said. “Man, I got up one morning and decided to go for a walk. That’s all I intended to do. I didn’t expect half the population of the Great Northwest would decide to tag along after me, but I’m not complaining, I sort of like the company. But if this is a peace march, somebody else is going to have to lead it, because I’m gonna go catch a train home.”

“Back to Roseburg, huh?”

“Bet your ass.”

“So we’re not going into North Dakota to protest the missile installations?”

“What!”

“Well, I didn’t think so. ”

“Who was it said—”

“I don’t remember. But somebody was saying how there are these missile silos in North Dakota, in between the wheat fields or some such thing, and we could march around them and chant and send out energy and fuse their fucking nose cones or something. And the troops guarding the silos would desert their posts and march with us.”

“Especially if we pelt them with flowers. Jesus Christ.”

“So I thought I’d check with you.”

“Yeah. Right.” He thought for a moment. “You can tell people we’re not going to Washington, D.C. or state. And we’re not going to North Dakota, either, so that’ll make it easy to decide about going to Miles City. We’ll cut south at Forsyth to 212. If people are even talking about missiles in North Dakota, we won’t go there.”

What did you do when you were confused? You went and talked with Sara.

“I never even thought about going to Washington or trying to tell the government what to do,” he told her. “The minute Jody said that, I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. That’s not just my kind of thing, and it feels dead wrong for this group. For Christ’s sake, we’ve got every kind of person there is, and from every kind of political perspective. Some of our people, if they were going to present a demand to Washington, it would be that they start the Vietnam War all over again and use nukes this time around. It seems to me that people haven’t been getting politicized since joining up with us. If anything, they let go of whatever politics they had.”

“It usually seems to work that way,” she agreed.

“I think it’s all right not knowing the destination,” he went on. “I don’t mind that. It feels fine. We haven’t yet come to a fork in the road with no idea where to go next. I always get the route a few days ahead of time, and I have the feeling it may not matter too much where we’re going. If we keep going generally east sooner or later we’ll get to the ocean, and then we’ll either stop or turn around or walk on water. The way things have been going lately, it wouldn’t surprise me if we could.”

“You’re getting hard to surprise, Guthrie.”

“Hard to surprise but easy to baffle. I’m glad Jody told me what people were saying. I don’t think it’s a problem, nothing like that, but it got me thinking. Sara, I wish I knew what this was all about.”

“Ah.”

“I mean it. I’ll tell myself it’s not about anything, I just went out for a walk and look what it led to, but what is it leading to? Not the destination, it doesn’t matter if it’s Boston or Miami or Newport News, or if we stop in our tracks somewhere in the middle of Arkansas. But what’s the purpose? Are we a sort of traveling medicine show, clearing up people’s sinuses and fusing their broken bones? I’m not making light of that. If that’s what this is about, that’s fine. Every day there are more miracles, more healings, and it’s exciting to be part of it.”

“But?”

“But I have a feeling there’s more, and I’m starting to think I ought to know what it is.”

“Have you looked within for the answer?”

“I had to look within to find the question. If there’s any answers hiding in the same cupboard, I can’t find them.”

She took his hand. For several moments neither of them spoke. Then she said, “I’ve been having some of the same thoughts. That it’s time I knew.”

“And?”

“Do we still have Al’s wheelchair with us?”

“Yes. He’s still not sure he won’t need it.”

“Good. He won’t need it. I will.”

“What for? You’re not, uh, weakening physically, are you, Sara?”

“No, eyesight was the only sacrifice I’ve had to make. But I’ll ride in the wheelchair tomorrow. Someone will have to push me.”

“Why?”

She brushed her fingertips across her forehead. “I guess you could say I’ll be going on a vision quest. I’d go sit on top of a mountain for a few days but we’ve left the mountains far behind, and if I sat anywhere the rest of you would leave me as far behind as we’ve left the mountains.”

“Don’t be silly. We’d wait for you.”

“I don’t think there’s any need. We’ve got the wheelchair. I’ll sit in it. People can take turns pushing it. I’ll be in a sort of a trance, so it would be better if no one tried to talk to me. And don’t worry about food. I won’t need any food.”

“What about water?”

“I won’t need that either.”

“How long is this going to take?”

“I’m not sure. Two, three days.”

“And when it’s done we’ll know what’s happening?”

“Well, we’ll know something,” she said.

“At the very least, we’ll know that a wheelchair’s the wrong vehicle for a vision quest.”

They set out the next morning with Sara in the chair. She was positioned at her request about midway between the front and rear of the procession, with a substantial gap immediately in front of and behind her. While she had said that she would probably be unable to hear anything, Guthrie decided there shouldn’t be any conversation carried on too close to her, on the chance that it might distract her.

He took the first turn pushing the chair. He had gone perhaps fifty yards when there was a tug at his sleeve.

He turned. It was Neila, wide-eyed and silent. She was holding a crystal on a gold chain, and when he stepped aside she placed it around Sara’s neck and fastened the clasp. She flashed a quick half smile, then hurried on ahead.

Sara took hold of the blue stone with both hands, then let go of it and settled her hands again in her lap. Guthrie resumed pushing the chair, and it rolled easily over the blacktop pavement. The air was warm but not too warm, with a cloud just blocking the sun and the sky a vivid blue. He walked along, pushing the chair, enjoying the sense of Sara’s presence.