Roadside Picnic (8 page)

REDRICK
SCHUHART
,
AGE
28,
MARRIED
, NO
PERMANENT
OCCUPATION

Redrick Schuhart lay behind a gravestone and looked at the road through a branch of the ash tree. The searchlights of the patrol car were combing the cemetery and once in a while one caught him in the eyes. Then he would squint and hold his breath.

Two hours had passed and things were still the same on the road. The car was still parked, its motor throbbing evenly, and kept scanning with its three searchlights the rundown graves, the lopsided, rusty crosses and headstones, the overgrown bushy ash trees, and the crest of the ten-foot-thick wall that broke off on the left. The border patrol guards were afraid of the Zone. They didn’t even get out of the car. Near the cemetery, they were even too scared to shoot. Redrick could hear their lowered voices once in a while, and once in a while he could see the light of a cigarette butt fly out of the car window and roll down the highway, skipping along and scattering weak red sparks. It was very damp, it had just rained, and Redrick could feel the dank cold through his waterproof jumpsuit.

He carefully released the branch, turned his head, and listened. Somewhere to the right, not too far, but not too close either, there was someone else in the cemetery. The leaves rustled there once more and soil crumbled, and then there was the soft thud of something hard and heavy falling. Redrick started crawling backward, carefully and without turning around, hugging the wet grass. The beam of light swung over his head. He froze, following its silent movement, and he thought he saw a man in black sitting motionless on a grave between the crosses. He was sitting there openly, leaning against a marble obelisk, turning his white face with its black sunken holes toward Redrick. Actually Redrick did not see him clearly, nor was it possible in the split second he had, but he filled in the details with his imagination. He crawled away a few more steps and felt for his flask inside his jacket. He pulled it out and lay with its warm metal against his cheek for a while. Then still holding onto the flask, he crawled on. He stopped listening and looking around.

There was a break in the wall and Burbridge was lying there in a lead-lined raincoat with a bullet hole in it. He was still on his back, pulling at the collar of his sweater with both hands and moaning painfully. Redrick sat next to him and unscrewed the flask’s cap. He carefully held Burbridge’s head, feeling the hot, sticky, sweaty bald spot with his palm, and brought the flask to the old man’s lips. It was dark, but in the weak reflections of the searchlights Redrick could see Burbridge’s wide-open, glassy eyes and the dark stubble that covered his cheeks. Burbridge greedily took several gulps and then nervously felt for his sack with the swag.

“You came back ... Good fellow ... Red. You won’t leave an old man to die.”

Redrick threw back his head and took a deep swallow.

“It’s still there. Like it was nailed to the highway.”

“It’s no accident,” Burbridge said. He spoke in spurts, on the exhale. “Someone must have squealed. They’re waiting for us.”

“Maybe,” said Redrick. “Want another swallow?”

“No. That’s enough for now. Don’t abandon me. If you don’t leave me, I won’t die. You won’t be sorry. You won’t leave me, will you? Red?”

Redrick did not answer. He was looking over at the highway and the flashes of light. He could see the marble obelisk, but he couldn’t tell if
he
was sitting there or not.

“Listen, Red. I’m not fooling. You won’t be sorry. Do you know why old Burbridge is still alive? Do you know? Bob the Gorilla blew it. Pharaoh the Banker kicked the bucket. And what a stalker he was! And he was killed. Slimy, too. And Norman Four-Eyes. Culligan. Pete the Scab. All of them. I’m the only who’s survived. Why? Do you know?”

“You were always a rat,” said Red, never taking his eyes off the road. “A son of a bitch.”

“A rat. That’s true. You can’t get by without being one. But all of them were. Pharaoh. Slimy. But I’m the only one left. Do you know why?”

“I know,” said Red to end the conversation.

“You’re lying. You don’t know. Have you heard about the Golden Ball?”

“Yes.”

“You think it’s a fairy tale?”

“You’d better keep quiet. Save your strength.”

“It’s all right. You’ll carry me out. We’ve gone to the Zone so many times. Could you abandon me? I knew you when. You were so small. Your father ... ”

Redrick said nothing. He wanted a cigarette badly. He took one out, crumpled the tobacco in his hand, and sniffed it. It didn’t help. “You have to get me out. I got burned because of you. You’re the one who wouldn’t take the Maltese.”

The Maltese was itching to go with them. He had treated them all evening, offering a good percentage, swore that he would get a special suit, and Burbridge, who was sitting next to him, kept winking to Red behind his leathery hand. Let’s take him, we won’t go wrong. Maybe that was why Red said no.

“You got it because you were greedy,” Red said coldly. “I had nothing to do with it. You’d better be quiet.”

For a while, Burbridge moaned. He had his fingers in his collar again and his head was thrown back.

“You can have all the swag,” he gasped. “Just don’t leave me.”

Redrick looked at his watch. There wasn’t much time until dawn, and the patrol car was still there. Its spotlights were still searching the bushes, and their camouflaged jeep was quite close to the police car. They could find it any minute.

“The Golden Ball,” said Burbridge. “I found it. There were so many tales about it. I spun a few myself. That it would grant your every wish. Any wish, hah! If that were true, I sure wouldn’t be here. I’d be living high on the hog in Europe. Swimming in dough.”

Redrick looked down at him. In the flickering blue light Burbridge’s upturned face looked dead. But his glassy eyes were fixed on Redrick.

“Eternal youth – like hell I got it. Money – the hell with that, too. But I got health. And good children. And I’m alive. You can only dream about the places I’ve been. And I’m still alive.” He licked his lips. “I only ask for one thing. Let me live. And give me health. And the children.”

“Will you shut up?” Red finally said. “You sound like a dame. If I can, I’ll get you out. I’m sorry for your Dina. She’ll have to hit the streets.”

“Dina,” the old man whispered hoarsely. “My little girl. My beauty. They’re spoiled, Red. I’ve never refused them anything. They’ll be lost. Arthur. My Artie. You know him, Red. Have you ever seen anything like him?”

“I told you: if I can I’ll save you.”

“No,” Burbridge said stubbornly. “You’ll get me out no matter what. The Golden Ball. Do you want me to tell you where it is?”

“Go ahead.”

Burbridge moaned and stirred.

“My legs ... Feel how they are.”

Redrick reached out and moved his hand down his leg below the knee.

“The bones ... ” He moaned. “Are the bones still there?”

“They’re there. Stop fussing.”

“You’re lying. Why lie? You think I don’t know, I’ve never seen it happen?”

Actually all he could feel was the kneecap. Below, all the way to the ankle, the leg was like a rubber stick. You could tie knots in it.

“The knees are whole,” Red said.

“You’re probably lying,” Burbridge said sadly. “Well, all right. Just get me out. I’ll give you everything. The Golden Ball. I’ll draw you a map. Show you all the traps. I’ll tell you everything.”

He promised other things, too, but Redrick wasn’t listening. He was looking at the highway. The spotlights weren’t racing across the shrubbery any more. They were frozen. They converged on that obelisk. In the bright blue fog Redrick could see the bent black figure wandering among the crosses. The figure seemed to be moving blindly, straight into the lights. Redrick saw it bump into a huge cross, stumble, bump into the cross again, walk around it, and continue on, its arms outstretched before it, fingers spread wide. Then it suddenly disappeared, as though it fell underground; it surfaced a few seconds later, to the right and farther away, stepping with a bizarre, inhuman stubbornness, like a wind-up toy.

Suddenly the lights went out. The transmission squealed, the engine roared, and the blue and red signal lights showed through the shrubs. The patrol car tore away, accelerated wildly, and raced toward town. It disappeared behind the wall. Redrick gulped and unzipped his jump suit.

“They’ve gone away.” Burbridge muttered feverishly. “Red, let’s go. Hurry!” He shifted around, felt for and found his bag, and tried to get up. “Let’s go, what are you waiting for?”

Redrick was still looking toward the road. It was dark now, and nothing could be seen, but somewhere out there
he
was stalking, like an automaton, stumbling, falling, bumping into crosses, getting tangled in the shrubs.

“All right,” Red said out loud. “Let’s go.” He lifted Burbridge. The old man clamped onto his neck with his left hand. Redrick, unable to straighten up, crawled with him on all fours through the hole in the wall, grabbing the wet grass.

“Let’s go, let’s go,” Burbridge whispered hoarsely. “Don’t worry, I’ve got the swag, I won’t let go. Come on!”

The path was familiar, but the wet grass was slippery, the ash branches whipped him in the face, the bulky old man was unbearably heavy, like a corpse, and the bag with the booty, clinking and clanging, kept getting caught, and he was afraid of running into
him,
who could be anywhere in the dark.

When they got out onto the highway, it was still dark, but you could tell that dawn was coming. In the little wood across the road, birds were making sleepy and uncertain noises, and the night gloom was turning blue over the black houses in the distant suburbs. There was a chilly damp breeze coming from there. Redrick put Burbridge on the shoulder of the road and like a big black spider scuttled across the road. He quickly found the jeep, swept off the branches from the hood and fenders, and drove out onto the asphalt without turning on the headlights. Burbridge was there, holding the bag in one hand and feeling his legs with the other.

“Hurry up! Hurry. My knees, I still have my knees. If only we could save my knees!”

Redrick picked him up, and gritting his teeth from the strain, shoved him over the side. Burbridge landed on the back seat and groaned. He hadn’t dropped the bag. Redrick picked up the lead-lined raincoat and covered him with it. Burbridge had even managed to get the coat out.

Redrick took out a flashlight and checked the shoulder for tracks. There weren’t too many traces. The jeep had flattened some of the tall grasses as it came onto the road, but the grass would stand up in a couple of hours. There were an enormous number of butts around the spot where the patrol car had parked. That reminded Redrick that he wanted a smoke. He lit one up, even though what he wanted more was to get the hell out of there and drive as fast as he could. But he couldn’t do that yet. Everything had to be done slowly and consciously.

“What’s the matter?” Burbridge whined from the car. “You haven’t spilled the water, and the fishing gear is dry. What are you waiting for? Come on, hide the swag!”

“Shut up! Don’t bug me! We’ll head for the southern suburbs.”

“What surburbs? Are you crazy? You’ll ruin my knees, you bastard! My knees!”

Redrick took a last drag and put the butt in his matchbox.

“Don’t be a jerk, Buzzard. We can’t go straight through town. There are three roadblocks. We’ll get stopped once for sure.”

“So what?”

“They’ll take one look at your feet and it’s curtains.”

“What about my legs? We were fishing, I hurt my legs, and that’s that.”

“And what if they feel your legs?”

“Feel them. I’ll yell so loud that they’ll never try feeling a leg again.”

But Redrick had already decided. He lifted the driver’s seat, flashing his light, opened a secret compartment, and said:

“Let me have the stuff.”

The gas tank under the seat was a dummy. Redrick took the bag and stuffed it inside, listening to the clinking and clanging in the bag.

“I can’t take any risks,” he muttered. “I don’t have the right.”

He put the cover back on, covered it up with rubbish and rags, and replaced the seat. Burbridge was moaning and groaning, begging him to hurry, and promising him the Golden Ball again. He twisted and shifted in his seat, staring anxiously into the growing light. Redrick paid no attention to him. He tore open the plastic bag of water with the fish in it, poured out the water over the fishing gear, and put the flopping fish into the basket. He folded up the plastic bag and put it in his pocket. Now everything was in order. Two fishermen coming back from a not very successful trip. He got behind the wheel and started the car.

He drove all the way to the turn without putting on the lights. The vast ten-foot wall stretched to the left of them, hemming in the Zone, and on their right there were occasional abandoned cottages, with boarded windows and peeling paint. Redrick could see well in the dark, and it wasn’t that dark any more anyway, and besides, he knew that it was coming. So when the bent figure, striding rhythmically, appeared before the car, he didn’t even slow down. He hunched over the wheel.
He
was walking in the middle of the road – like all of them,
he
was headed for town. Redrick passed
him
from the left and speeded up.

“Mother of God!” Burbridge muttered in the back seat. “Red, did you see that?”

“Yes.”

“God! That’s all we need!” Suddenly Burbridge broke into a loud prayer.

“Shut up!” Redrick shouted at him.

The turn should have been right around there somewhere. Redrick slowed down, staring at the row of sinking houses and fences on the right. The old transformer hut, the pole with the supports, the rotting bridge over the culvert. Redrick turned the wheel. The car tossed and turned.

“Where are you going?” Burbridge wailed. “You’ll ruin my legs, you bastard!”

Redrick turned around for a second and slapped the old man’s face, feeling his prickly stubbled cheek. Burbridge sputtered and fell silent. The car was bouncing and the wheels slipped in the fresh mud from last night’s rain. Redrick turned on the lights. The white bouncing light illuminated overgrown old ruts, huge puddles, and rotten, leaning fences. Burbridge was crying, sobbing, and snuffling. He wasn’t promising anything any more. He was complaining and threatening, but in a very quiet and indistinct voice, so that Redrick heard only isolated words. Something about legs, knees, and his darling Archie. Then he shut up.