Cormac McCarthy - The Road

I dont know.

But what do you think?

I think it's unlikely.

Could they fly to Mars or someplace?

No. They couldnt.

Because it's too far?

Yes.

Even if they wanted to.

Even if they wanted to.

What if they tried and they just got half way or something and then they were too tired. Would they fall back down?

Well. They really couldnt get halfway because they'd be in space and there's not any air in space so they wouldnt be able to fly and besides it would be too cold and they'd freeze to death.

Oh.

Anyway they wouldnt know where Mars was.

Do we know where Mars is?

Sort of.

If we had a spaceship could we go there?

Well. If you had a really good spaceship and you had people to help you I suppose you could go.

Would there be food and stuff when you got there?

No. There's nothing there.

Oh.

They sat for a long time. They sat on their folded blankets and watched the road in both directions. No wind. Nothing. After a while the boy said: There's not any crows. Are there?

No.

Just in books.

Yes. Just in books.

I didnt think so.

Are you ready?

Yes.

They rose and put away their cups and the rest of the crackers. The man piled the blankets on top of the cart and fastened the tarp down and then he stood looking at the boy. What? the boy said.

I know you thought we were going to die.

Yeah.

But we didnt.

No.

Okay.

Can I ask you something? Sure.

If you were a crow could you fly up high enough to see the sun?

Yes. You could.

I thought so. That would be really neat.

Yes it would. Are you ready?

Yes.

He stopped. What happened to your flute?

I threw it away.

You threw it away?

Yes.

Okay.

Okay.

In the long gray dusk they crossed a river and stopped and looked down from the concrete balustrade at the slow dead water passing underneath. Sketched upon the pall of soot downstream the outline of a burnt city like a black paper scrim. They saw it again just at dark pushing the heavy cart up a long hill and they stopped to rest and he turned the cart sideways in the road against it rolling. Their masks were already gray at the mouth and their eyes darkly cupped. They sat in the ashes by the side of the road and looked out to the east where the shape of the city was darkening into the coming night. They saw no lights.

Do you think there's anyone there, Papa?

I dont know.

How soon can we stop?

We can stop now.

On the hill?

We can get the cart down to those rocks and cover it with limbs.

Is this a good place to stop?

Well, people dont like to stop on hills. And we dont like for people to stop.

So it's a good place for us.

I think so.

Because we're smart.

Well, let's not get too smart.

Okay.

Are you ready?

Yes.

The boy stood up and got his broom and put it over his shoulder. He looked at his father. What are our long term goals? he said.

What?

Our long term goals.

Where did you hear that?

I dont know.

No, where did you?

You said it.

When?

A long time ago.

What was the answer?

I dont know.

Well. I dont either. Come on. It's getting dark.

Late in the day following as they rounded a bend in the road the boy stopped and put his hand on the carriage. Papa, he whispered. The man looked up. A small figure distant on the road, bent and shuffling.

He stood leaning on the handle of the grocery cart. Well, he said. Who's this?

What should we do, Papa?

It could be a decoy.

What are we going to do?

Let's just follow. We'll see if he turns around.

Okay.

The traveler was not one for looking back. They followed him for a while and then they overtook him. An old man, small and bent. He carried on his back an old army rucksack with a blanket roll tied across the top of it and he tapped along with a peeled stick for a cane. When he saw them he veered to the side of the road and turned and stood warily. He had a filthy towel tied under his jaw as if he suffered from toothache and even by their new world standards he smelled terrible.

I dont have anything, he said. You can look if you want.

We're not robbers.

He leaned one ear forward. What? he called.

I said we're not robbers.

What are you?

They'd no way to answer the question. He wiped his nose with the back of his wrist and stood waiting. He had no shoes at all and his feet were wrapped in rags and cardboard tied with green twine and any number of layers of vile clothing showed through the tears and holes in it. Of a sudden he seemed to wilt even further. He leaned on his cane and lowered himself into the road where he sat among the ashes with one hand over his head. He looked like a pile of rags fallen off a cart. They came forward and stood looking down at him. Sir? the man said. Sir?

The boy squatted and put a hand on his shoulder. He's scared, Papa. The man is scared.

He looked up the road and down. If this is an ambush he goes first, he said.

He's just scared, Papa.

Tell him we wont hurt him.

The old man shook his head from side to side, his fingers laced in his filthy hair. The boy looked up at his father.

Maybe he thinks we're not real.

What does he think we are?

I dont know.

We cant stay here. We have to go.

He's scared, Papa.

I dont think you should touch him.

Maybe we could give him something to eat.

He stood looking off down the road. Damn, he whispered. He looked down at the old man. Perhaps he'd turn into a god and they to trees. All right, he said.

He untied the tarp and folded it back and rummaged through the canned goods and came up with a tin of fruit cocktail and took the can opener from his pocket and opened the tin and folded back the lid and walked over and squatted and handed it to the boy.

What about a spoon?

He's not getting a spoon.

The boy took the tin and handed it to the old man. Take it, he whispered. Here.

The old man raised his eyes and looked at the boy. The boy gestured at him with the tin. He looked like someone trying to feed a vulture broken in the road. It's okay, he said.

The old man lowered his hand from his head. He blinked. Grayblue eyes half buried in the thin and sooty creases of his skin.

Take it, the boy said.

He reached with his scrawny claws and took it and held it to his chest.

Eat it, the boy said. It's good. He made tipping motions with his hands. The old man looked down at the tin. He took a fresh grip and lifted it, his nose wrinkling. His long and yellowed claws scrabbled at the metal. Then he tipped it and drank. The juice ran down his filthy beard. He lowered the can, chewing with difficulty. He jerked his head when he swallowed. Look, Papa, the boy whispered.

I see, the man said.

The boy turned and looked at him.

I know what the question is, the man said. The answer is no.

What's the question?

Can we keep him. We cant.

I know.

You know.

Yeah.

All right.

Can we give him something else?

Let's see how he does with this.

They watched him eat. When he was done he sat holding the empty tin and looking down into it as if more might appear.

What do you want to give him?

What do you think he should have?

I dont think he should have anything. What do you want to give him?

We could cook something on the stove. He could eat with us.

You're talking about stopping. For the night.

Yeah.

He looked down at the old man and he looked at the road. All right, he said. But then tomorrow we go on.

The boy didnt answer.

That's the best deal you're going to get.