As he headed toward Gloralais place, Conner became aware of some guilty and latent thrill at his being alive. He felt a raw power for having survived being completely buried in drift. There was also some strange pang of guilt for having been present and on the earth for so momentous a disaster as the fall of the great wall. It wasnt enjoymentwas nothing like enjoyment. There was too much a darkness over everything, too much a longing, a deep ache; but behind it all there was a tiny voice telling him how good it felt to be breathing, how great it felt to be above the sand, and could he believe what hed just witnessed?
Conner hated this voice. There was no excitement in this. Nothing but tragedy and loss and now an uncertain and terrifying tomorrow. The wind-blown dunes would swamp Shantytown as never before. Another chaotic Low-Pub awaited here. A lesson was coming for his people, a lesson that there is always
a new and greater misery to fall back upon. And thinking this caused the endless days to stretch out before himdays when hauling buckets away from the water pump would be remembered with the same blissful nostalgia as hot baths and flushing toilets. Always more room to fall. The sand went down and down and didnt stop.
He veered slightly out of his way as he thought these things; he wanted to swing by his house. There was nothing there for himhed carried everything out of there for his trek across No Mans Land, a decision and deed that seemed so very far away nowhe just wanted to make sure the front door was unburied, that he and Rob would have a place to go to, that the sand around their home hadnt collapsed shut from the grumbling of the earth.
The door was still there. The scaffolding was still webbed atop his home. And it looked like there might be a lantern burning inside. Light squeezed around the crooked door.
Conner approached slowly. He didnt knock, just tried the handle, found it sticky as usual but not locked. He pushed it open.
A man turned toward the door, his eyes growing wide over his neatly cropped beard. He and two boys sat around Conners kitchen table. There was the smell of food cooking. The man got up, the chair tipping backward and crashing to the floor, both of his hands out in front of him.
Im sorry, the man said. He reached for his children, who had stopped eating their soup, who sat with frozen expressions on their faces. They all had on such nice clothes. Were going. Well leave. We meant no harm.
No, Conner said. He waved the man back. Stay. This is my place. Its okay.
The man glanced toward the dark bedroom. Conner couldnt tell if there was anyone in there, thought maybe the man was thinking that there wasnt room enough for him and his children to stay.
Are you from Springston? Conner asked.
The man nodded. He righted the chair and rested his hand on its back. The children went back to slurping. I took the boys out on the sarfer this morning. We saw it happen, saw all of it. My wife He shook his head and looked away.
Im sorry, Conner said. He adjusted the empty dive tank on his back. Stay here as long as you like. I was just checking on the place.
What about?
Ive got somewhere to stay tonight, Conner assured him, thinking of the sarfer and a night beneath the stars. Im sorry for your loss. He turned to go, but the man was across the room, clasping him on the shoulders.
Thank you, he whispered.
Conner nodded. Both men had tears in their eyes. And then the man hugged him, and Conner thought how this wouldve seemed a strange thing a day ago.
Robs fine, Conner said. He asked if she knew where Gloralai might be.
I think all the sissyfoots are at the well.
Conner considered the hour and realized he was probably supposed to be there as well. It had been a school day, a fact forgotten not just from looking after Violet at the Honey Hole but from leaving class on Friday expecting never to come back. It was after dark, and he would normally have hauled his quota by now. He thanked Manuels mom and hurried toward the well. The sudden awareness that the sand would never stop hit him. Not even for the collapse of the wall. Not even that night, for them to rest and regain their senses, to count and properly bury their dead. Buckets still had to be hauled or they would go thirsty. The gods were merciless. Vic was right. This was the sort of cruelty that only came from turned backs, from being ignored. Well-aimed lashes and direct blows were more easily understood. At least then the stricken knew their anguished cries were being heard.
He aimed for the dancing torches atop Waterpump Ridge. A lot of activity. He could imagine the haul shifts starting late, a period of chaos as the schoolhouse emptied and the sand washed out Springston, nobody knowing what was going on. It was strange, the separation he felt from his peers, thinking on where hed been all day and what hed been doing. But here they were, his classmates, keeping the water flowing, saving far more lives than he. There was perspective in this. The man who had broken into his home and had stolen what little Conner had left in his cupboardthat