competitions …”
She finished, dried herself and dressed, still watching the other narrowly. The Rural frowned, from her to the bathtub and back. She knelt to dabble at the still-warm water; then began to tug, uncertainly, at the filthy dress.
“Glory be,” said the American girl. “Don’t tell me it worked. Anythin’ I can do, you can do better. That’s it, ain’t it? Well, you just hold up there whiles I get some more water on …” She heaved a sigh of relief. “This,” she said, “is goin’ to be one of the great moments of my life …”
The Rural sat playing happily with the foam, batting big bright chunks of it about and slapping the water to make more. The warmth had made her feel comfortable and safe; she chuckled, the first really human sound she had made, and the American made a passing grab for the soap. She missed, and a tussling ensued. The Rural laughed aloud; more water slopped over to join the already-considerable pool on the floor.
“For the thirteen dozenth time,” said the American, “you ain’t in there to
play
. Jeeze, it’s lucky we ain’t got no rubber ducks. Else I wouldn’t get no co-operation at all … Don’t you wanna look smart when Johnny comes?”
She doused the Rural’s hair. “Medicated, that stuff said it was,” she said, “Hope to hell it was a strong medicine…” She began to soap, vigorously. “He’ll be along any day now,” she said. “Along the road. Or maybe he’ll come by water. That’s why I’m hangin’ on here. It’s a rendezvous, see? ‘Wait by the Great Cross,’ he said. Last thing, before we split up. ‘Go to the Great Cross’. It won’t be long …”
She paused in her work, eyes vague. “You see, we even got our own names for places,” she said. “Secret places, all up and down the country. Everybody in Johnny’s Party. All the Truckers. Maybe they’re on the road already. And this time it’s gonna work. Because we’re all in it together. You heard of the police? They’re comin’ in. The real police, not their Goddam Commissars. And the army. You know you even got the scraps left of an army?”
She poured more water from one of the saucepans. “It wasn’t the old guys’ fault,” she said. “The guys who set this whole mess up right at the start. You see, they didn’t allow for hate. What it could do. You know about hate, honey? You got any hate there, in that funny little mind?”
The Rural watched her, solemn-eyed. She set the saucepan back on the stove, began scrubbing. “There is a colour appearin’ here,” she said, “that a friendly observer might even describe as pink …” She sighed. “It was hate made the Rurals,” she said. “People like you. And me. Hate split this Goddam little country, zap. Straight down the middle. They thought they could do without us, see? They thought they were smart. Because they could make tin cans. Maybe you think that’s smart too. Makin’ a tin can. But it ain’t. Not really …”
She sluiced water, used a towel briskly and moved her position. “Gimme a foot,” she said. “Yeah, any one will do. You sittin’ on that soap again?”
She bent over her task. “But the hatin’ didn’t stop there,” she said. “They got rid of all they could. Pulled it down, just broke it up. Then they turned on each other. It was all up for grabs. First it was one mob runnin’ crazy, then the next. Then the Docks and Waterways got theirselves a hold. That was worst ofall, that was when the shantys really got started. They reckon fifty thousand died that first winter. So we had the Peoples’ War. That didn’t solve nothing either.” She returned the limb on which she had been working to its proper element. “C’mon now, don’t get coy. Gimme the
other one …
“I wish you could hear Johnny,” she said. “Hear him talk. I get through a lot o’ words, but I can’t talk like him. About what we’ve lost, the music and all. All the things they reckoned they could do
She finished, dried herself and dressed, still watching the other narrowly. The Rural frowned, from her to the bathtub and back. She knelt to dabble at the still-warm water; then began to tug, uncertainly, at the filthy dress.
“Glory be,” said the American girl. “Don’t tell me it worked. Anythin’ I can do, you can do better. That’s it, ain’t it? Well, you just hold up there whiles I get some more water on …” She heaved a sigh of relief. “This,” she said, “is goin’ to be one of the great moments of my life …”
The Rural sat playing happily with the foam, batting big bright chunks of it about and slapping the water to make more. The warmth had made her feel comfortable and safe; she chuckled, the first really human sound she had made, and the American made a passing grab for the soap. She missed, and a tussling ensued. The Rural laughed aloud; more water slopped over to join the already-considerable pool on the floor.
“For the thirteen dozenth time,” said the American, “you ain’t in there to
play
. Jeeze, it’s lucky we ain’t got no rubber ducks. Else I wouldn’t get no co-operation at all … Don’t you wanna look smart when Johnny comes?”
She doused the Rural’s hair. “Medicated, that stuff said it was,” she said, “Hope to hell it was a strong medicine…” She began to soap, vigorously. “He’ll be along any day now,” she said. “Along the road. Or maybe he’ll come by water. That’s why I’m hangin’ on here. It’s a rendezvous, see? ‘Wait by the Great Cross,’ he said. Last thing, before we split up. ‘Go to the Great Cross’. It won’t be long …”
She paused in her work, eyes vague. “You see, we even got our own names for places,” she said. “Secret places, all up and down the country. Everybody in Johnny’s Party. All the Truckers. Maybe they’re on the road already. And this time it’s gonna work. Because we’re all in it together. You heard of the police? They’re comin’ in. The real police, not their Goddam Commissars. And the army. You know you even got the scraps left of an army?”
She poured more water from one of the saucepans. “It wasn’t the old guys’ fault,” she said. “The guys who set this whole mess up right at the start. You see, they didn’t allow for hate. What it could do. You know about hate, honey? You got any hate there, in that funny little mind?”
The Rural watched her, solemn-eyed. She set the saucepan back on the stove, began scrubbing. “There is a colour appearin’ here,” she said, “that a friendly observer might even describe as pink …” She sighed. “It was hate made the Rurals,” she said. “People like you. And me. Hate split this Goddam little country, zap. Straight down the middle. They thought they could do without us, see? They thought they were smart. Because they could make tin cans. Maybe you think that’s smart too. Makin’ a tin can. But it ain’t. Not really …”
She sluiced water, used a towel briskly and moved her position. “Gimme a foot,” she said. “Yeah, any one will do. You sittin’ on that soap again?”
She bent over her task. “But the hatin’ didn’t stop there,” she said. “They got rid of all they could. Pulled it down, just broke it up. Then they turned on each other. It was all up for grabs. First it was one mob runnin’ crazy, then the next. Then the Docks and Waterways got theirselves a hold. That was worst ofall, that was when the shantys really got started. They reckon fifty thousand died that first winter. So we had the Peoples’ War. That didn’t solve nothing either.” She returned the limb on which she had been working to its proper element. “C’mon now, don’t get coy. Gimme the
other one …
“I wish you could hear Johnny,” she said. “Hear him talk. I get through a lot o’ words, but I can’t talk like him. About what we’ve lost, the music and all. All the things they reckoned they could do
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