Hail, Sterquilinus!

Word Count: 4,821

The Hired Man

On reflection, he couldn’t decide if it was the bananas or the gunshot that finally got him moving. He didn’t usually go out after dark. Too much chaos and noise on the main drag of the small northwestern Town. Screams, crazy laughter and the occasional noise that might be a fire cracker, or might be a gunshot. But he wanted to see if he could get some bananas. His one-a-day habit couldn’t be denied.

He slipped out of the back of the bookstore where he lived, and patting his pocket to make sure the pepper spray was close at hand, ghosted down the alleys to the store. It was open. Power had been sporadic. So sporadic that the center of town had been cut free from the grid and hydro power from a city owned plant routed to the town center. But as it had only provided 30% of the town’s power in good times, it was thin and insufficient, even in bad times.

He pushed through the doors. No more automatic doors. Two armed guards were posted at the front of the store. It seemed dim because more than half the florescent tubes had been removed. Quiet. The ever present Muzak was silent. The produce section was empty. A week ago, there was still a few items left. Some bananas from the store coolers. Now, nothing. Just empty bins.

He heard a muttering from the aisle that ran along the back of the store. He ducked low and took a look around an empty display. He saw a man standing halfway down the length of the store. He was fairly neat and tidy in a dress shirt and tie. But the tails of the shirt on one side hung out of his pants. He was looking into an empty dairy case and soon his rising voice gave form to his murmurings. “No ... no ... no ... NO!” On my way to the front door, I passed the guard headed toward the back. As I reached the front doors, there was the sound of a scuffle and then a shot.

It was time to go. He’d depart just before dawn the next morning. It was safer at that time. The bad guys were not early risers.

He’d really waited too long. There wasn’t enough gas in his small truck to make the journey, even though it was only 20 miles. When the gasoline shipments stopped coming, it was drained dry late one night. He left it unlocked with the key in the ignition and the signed title on the floorboards. He wouldn’t be needing it, anymore.

What to take and what to leave? A pile began to form next to his bike. His go-bag with basic emergency supplies and any important papers. A pair of saddle bags that he filled with his scant supply of remaining canned goods. A bottle of water. One roll of silver dimes. He loaded up and sat on the bike to check the balance. He seemed a bit top heavy on one side. He noticed a book that must have been left out of the cartons of books he had already taken out to the farm. “A Treasury of American Folk Tales” that had belonged to his grandparents. That evened out the load. Not as useful as what had already gone ahead, but perhaps more entertaining.

The last thing he wrapped was really a bit of silliness. A small German china blue bird. He always thought of it as his bluebird of good luck. His mother would have called it something to “feed his soul.” A scrap of bubble wrap and into the pack it went.

He dozed on and off until a crack in the door went from black to gray. The front and back doors were unlocked. No sense denying someone shelter. He carefully looked up and down the alley. Nothing stirred. He followed the alleys to the edge of town and caught the old highway south. In places, he had to push the bike. Petroleum based asphalt had gotten too expensive for the county to afford. Finally, it was unobtainable at any price.

As he traveled along, a poem kept running through his head. Frost’s “Death of the Hired Man.” Although old, he didn’t consider himself to be approaching death, any time soon. But he was on his way to becoming a hired man.

He’d met the Nelsons several years back at the farmer’s market. He’s bought fruit and vegetables from them for several years. They’d become friends. They’d taken him up on his offer to help out when they needed it. He showed up early and stayed late. Hoeing, watering and harvesting. When Bill Nelson was laid up for a couple of weeks he helped Deb Nelson with the market. If he was invited out to dinner, he’d help Bill split wood until Deb called them in to eat. If it got real late or the weather was nasty, he was welcome to stay in one of the outbuildings that used to be a little mother-in-law shack. He seemed to spend more and more time there. Deb added little comforts and Bill made sure the roof didn’t leak and the seams were tight. They left him to himself when he wanted to be to himself. He was happy, there.

Their arrangement was informal. But, when things started getting bad, they made it clear in no uncertain terms that he’d be welcome to take up residence permanently. Things had gotten bad. The North Slope Oil had played out, sooner than expected. The Straight of Hormuz was blocked with sunken ships too numerous to count and oil stopped flowing out of the Middle East. Russia and some of the South American countries decided to hold onto what little oil they had left. Saudi Arabia turned out to not have the reserves they had claimed. One town, county and state after another went belly up. Dominos collapsed in every direction.

So here he was, peddling and pushing out the old highway on his way to a different kind of a life. By noon, he was about halfway to his goal This far out of town houses were clearly abandoned. Some were burnt out. There was one that brought him up short. Most of the windows were gone and the door looked kicked in. Something was sprawled under a ratty old blanket across the threshold.

Just then, he heard a couple of shots. Then came hooting and yelling. He pushed his bike around the back of the house. There was a good sized pond and at the far end, a large stand of cattails, which he stashed his bike behind. He ducked around the side of the house and up on a brushy knoll where he could see the road. The noises got louder, and there was another shot or two. Nine young people came into sight, six boys and three girls. All the boys had guns and the girls had pistols shoved in their pants.

One of the boys shot out one of the few remaining windows of the house. The boy ran up the steps to the blanket covered lump. “Who-Wee! What a stink!” He pinched his nose with one hand and flipped back a corner of the blanket with the tip of his rifle. “Rings are gone. Fingers, too.” He skipped back to the group and addressed one of the girls, “I’ll find you something pretty, later on.”

The hired man waited long enough to make sure the group had disappeared down the road and then returned to his bike. He was suddenly hungry but didn’t want to spend too much time fooling around with eating. He pulled several young cattail shots out of the pond and hacked the roots off and most of the stem. A side pocket of his pack yielded up a vegetable peeler and a small salt shaker. He swished the roots around in the water to shake loose the dirt and then preceded to clean off the outside skin with the peeler. A bit of salt and he ate them like a carrot. Crisp and starchy, it didn’t take many to kill his hunger. And, he didn’t have to dip into his precious canned goods.

While he ate, he began to consider the peeler still in his hand. It was cheap and flimsy and probably wouldn’t last long. A simple thing. There were probably hundreds around, here and there, but all of them cheap and flimsy. Maybe the Mechinicker could help him figure out a way to make something more substantial out of scrap mettle. He could spend the winter when things were slow carving some nice substantial wooden handles. A little pleasing decoration. No two alike.

His mind wandered to the Mechaniker. It was an old German word his father had used for an all around handy guy. Brother Bob the Bachelor farmer who lived a couple of homesteads down the road from the Nelsons. He was the handy guy, the mechanic for all that went wrong in that part of the country. He was pretty old and once the cows had gotten too much for him, had switched to goats. But it was his shop that was a wonder. Clean and well organized with plenty of light from big windows. More hand tools than power tools. In a small side room was every copy of Popular Mechanics magazine from the 1930s to the 1950s. For help with the blades for the peelers the Hired Man figured he could trade for something that the Mechaniker would find useful. Or, he could just cut up a bunch of firewood, spend a couple of days weeding his garden or help out harvesting fruit or nuts from his small orchard.

He laughed at himself. He’d fallen into the city way of thinking, again. Weighing this against that. Some old Oscar Wilde quote about the cost of everything and the value of nothing came back to him. Brother Bob would be happy to help him with the peelers, just for the challenge. He already did this little chore and that for the learning of a thing.

He smiled when he thought about the tea. He’d sent away for some tea plants while the delivery companies had still been running. Nothing like that now. He’d planted them in the little door yard he’d fenced in front of his little cabin on the Nelson place. Added extra wire he’d found at an abandoned farm to keep the deer off. His first little harvest he’d shared out equally with the Nelsons, Brother Bob and Bob’s 99 year old mother. It made him happy that it made everyone else so happy. It had been at least two years since real tea was available at anything like an affordable price. They experimented with lemon grass and lemon mint. Honey of course.

The Nelsons had a few hives, as did Brother Bob. After a few years of scant bees, they seemed to be bouncing back. The Hired Man had a patch of ginger and managed to figure out how to candy it. To honey the ginger into a confection. No one else in that part of the county had bothered to go to the trouble even though he gave freely of starts to anyone who asked. Other people used it for the spiciness of the root. He was the only one that took the extra steps to candy them.

The last couple of miles of the Old Highway, he did more pushing than riding. The sky clouded over and the thick forest made the road dark. The pavement was getting pretty busted up and in one place a plugged culvert had overrun the road and cut a deep gully. Luckily, someone had thrown a couple of cedar 2 x 8s across and he was able to pick his way across. In two places, trees had come down. One was so large he had to unload his bike, haul it to the top of the trunk and lower it down the other side, and then do the same with his pack and saddle bags. He felt very exposed while doing this, but nothing untoward happened. It began to rain in ernest, and he threw the tarp with the re-enforced hole over his bike and himself. By the time he reached the junction he needed, he was tired, sweaty and little shaky. But at least the rain had stopped.

There had been a small convenience mart here just two months ago. An old repurposed building that had probably originally been a gas station and garage on the old highway. Now it was a burnt out shell. He sat on the cedar logs that had been the parking barriers between the road and the store. There was nothing left. Not a stick of salvageable lumber. He sighed at the waste of it all. He finished off the last of the cattail root and a bit of candied ginger.

It was getting late in the afternoon so he began his final push up the North Fork Road. And push he did as the pavement was bad and the road rising in elevation. It followed a small river. Any houses on the river side had been washed away last winter. The slope on the right was too steep and rocky for any kind of dwelling. Two miles up, he came to a washed out bridge. After careful consideration, he thought he could pick out a crossing from one bit of smashed pavement to the next. The worst part was wrenching is bike over the gaps. One slab had water sloshing across it and the footing was iffy. He took is slow using the bike as a pivot.

He rested a bit on the other side and then pushed on another two miles to another smashed bridge. Like the last, it looked doable. He was in the middle of the stream, slightly off balance when a voice brought him up short.

“Stop right there and state your business!” He stood frozen in place and considered the figure looming over him on the high bank with the gun pointed straight at him. Bits of memory started falling in place. Louis L’Amour novels and tours in the Middle East.

“Travis? Is that you? You wouldn’t shot you’re old buddy the Bookman, now would you?”

“Bookman! What ya doing all the way out here? Come on up here!”

He cleared the last of the chunks of pavement and Travis scrambled down the bank and helped him haul his bike the last few yards up to the shore of the river. They settled on a grassy hump to play a little catch up. The Hired Guy avoided starring at the ravaged side of Travis’ face. His left eye was slightly twisted down and his cheek looked ... melted.

“Well, I’m not the Bookman, anymore. You know the Nelsons? They’ve given me a place to stay and I help out as I can. But, I haven’t been out this way in over two months. I stayed in town too long and almost got stuck. Last I heard, you were still overseas. When and how did you get back?”

“Almost didn’t. When the oil started running low, it looked like a lot of us were going to get stuck where we were. Of course, some of the guys wanted to stay anyway. A few. Dating local woman, or their buddies were dating local women and they had nothing in particular to come back for. But, I did.

One of the guys in my unit was a senator’s son. They were going to quietly extract him and get him home. But, by gosh, he dug in his heels and said he wouldn’t go unless his whole company went. So, all hell broke loose. They shook out enough fuel to get us on a plane and get us back to the U.S.. At least as far as the East Coast. Everybody’s trying to get everywhere. To get home. I managed to grab a hold of someone’s coat tails and make it back to McCord.” He rubbed his check. “I think this helped. At least I got all my parts. And when I got home, my girl? She just grabbed me and kissed me ALL over my face and cried on BOTH my cheeks. I was worried ... about how I looked. But she didn’t care. She’s just glad to have me back.”

They sat quiet for a moment watching the water slide by and the sun drop below the cloud cover toward the horizon. The Hired Man rummaged in his pack and pulled out a can and a couple of forks. “Share a can of peaches?”

“Oh, that would be nice. I haven’t had a peach in awhile. Not too many around here. Drought over in Yakima and there’s been a couple of slides in the pass, so that roads pretty iffy.”

“So, what’s it like out there? News got pretty local about a month ago. Local, like maybe over to the next block.”

“Well, the trip across country was pretty rough. The weather is really screwed up. Half the doppler seems to be down. We had a hurricane to our south and tornados seemed to pop up out of nowhere to the north of us. We bumped and bucked our way across four states. Then it got dark and that was very weird. No lights, or very few. We were sucking fumes when we got to McCord. They lit a bonfire at the beginning and end of the runway. Totally dark in between but if you kept on a straight heading, you were o.k.”

“So, how did you get home from McCord? Were you discharged?”

“Well, we hung around the base for about a week and then asked who wanted to muster out. Didn’t tell, asked. Reduction in force. I don’t think they could feed all of us. Or, keep us warm. So, I got my papers. An old staff sergeant gave us each a gun and a hundred and fifty rounds of ammo. On the quiet. Said it was better than rusting in the armory. Or, ending up where they’d do more harm than good.

We’d heard the Interstate was a mess. Flooded in places. Landslides. Lots of abandoned cars. So, about 25 of us were heading south. We decided to follow the railroad tracks. It wasn’t bad. A couple of slides. One small bridge out. But, it was strange. We ran patrol, just like overseas. Scouts. Point men. Most of the folks we met were nice. One bunch of bad boys north of Tenino. But they won’t be bothering anyone, anymore.”

They sat silent in the gathering dusk. There was a distant sound of hooves. “Ah. Here’s my relief. I’ll walk you to the Nelson’s. It’s on my way. Nothin’ to worry about from man, in this part of the woods. But beast ... a cougar got one of Brother Bob’s goats last week. They’re moving in. We hunted him down, but he might have a buddy.” The sound of the hooves stopped and Travis called into the darkness “Troll on the Bridge! That’s to let her know everything is a. ok.” Travis introduced the Hired Guy to a young woman who came riding in on a sturdy pony. Then they headed up the road to the light of a lantern that Travis carried.

“That’s a pretty nifty lantern, Travis”

“Solar or windup. Dad had a few set by for storms. The electric was always a little iffy up this way in the winter in normal times. Don’t know what we’ll do when this gives up the ghost, but I suppose we’ll figure out something.”

They approached the junction of the North Fork Road and the Alpha road. Another trashed bridge lay to their left. “Troll on the bridge!” he sang into the darkness. “Devil at the crossroads!” drifted back out of the dark. “Who you got with you, Travis?”

“A stray. Kind of. The Bookman, from in town.”

“Oh, yeah. I been in your place. You recommended some books for my Dad, one Christmas. McMannis? I think he took more pleasure from that than any other gift I ever got him. Laughed so hard he almost fell out of his chair. Still pulls them off the shelf from time to time. What are you doing way out here?”

“Oh, I’m going to be helping around the Nelson place. I know them from way back. Town was getting a little ...”

“Dicey?” A long sigh from the dark. “You don’t happen to have any Pendleton “Destroyer” series in that pack? Or, Axler? Deathlands?”

The Bookman laughed. “Well, no, not in my pack. I moved some books out to the Nelson’s last year, but they’re mostly how-tos.” Another long sigh out of the dark. “But, I did bring a couple three big boxes of paperbacks. There’s some L’Amour, Zane Grey and maybe some Pendleton and Axler. I’m in the little cabin past the Nelson’s barn. Give me a few days to settle in. Stop by.”

“I will. I need to tip Brother Bob off to some salvage I found. I’ll stop in, then.”

Travis and the Hired Man walked on up the road. Travis continued his story of his journey south. “There were about twenty-five of us when we left McCord. A couple split off to look for family in Lacy. We lost six in Olympia.”

“Is there a functioning state government in the capitol, Travis?”

“Something is functioning. It was pretty well clean an organized, what I saw of it. Highway patrol and county sheriffs seem to have things in hand. City police. All together. They offered our guys three hots and a cot in return for service, while they look for family. I didn’t see it, but I heard half the capitol dome is gone and the building pretty much burnt out. Any government that’s still functioning is in the old capitol building, down past the park.”

“That’s a shame. I always did like that building.”

“Yeah. Took a field trip there as a kid. Pretty awe inspiring. Any-who. A couple of guys peeled off at Tenino. Then we got to Bucoda. Small, but two of our guys were from there. Wow. Did they roll out the red carpet. They partied us for two days. Oh,and we had picked up a couple of families along the way. Safer to travel with us. One of them decided to stay in Bucoda. Three guys were from Town. Glad we came through there early in the day. It looked bad and smelled bad and just didn’t feel ... right.”

“It’s pretty crazy there, right now. They do have some electric, thou. But the night before I left, some guy got shot at the grocery store.”

“Wow. Craziness, for sure. Glad you made it out here, ok. Well, I made it back here and the family that were with us decided to stay. We put them up ... remember that little place that looked like a little Swiss lodge down toward Pigeon Springs? It belonged to some snow birds who were down in Arizona when things began to get rough. They never came back. If they do, we’ll do some shifting around. But in the meantime, it’s kept up. The last two guys continued on south to Winlock and Toledo. I was worried about them, but they made it ok. I saw them at the Grange Market.”

“What’s the Grange Market?”

“Oh, you remember that old closed up Grange Hall where the Alpha Road meets 508? Well, it’s kind of the center of our little world, now. There’s a market there, every Saturday. And, the first Saturday of every month, it’s really big. That’s when people from really far out make it in. That’s when I saw the guys from Winlock and Toledo. They have their own weekly markets, but anyone that can, makes it to the big one at the Grange, once a month. A lot of people stay over into Sunday. Saturday night there’s dancing, music and story telling. Sundays there’s church services of one kind or another scattered around here and there. The Sheriff has a muster on sundays.”

“You have a Sheriff?”

“Sheriff and militia. Of which, I am a proud member. Quit a few deputies lived out this way. When things got quiet and we were kind of cut off, they picked one of their guys to be the head sheriff. He deputizes other folk into the militia. Mostly vets. All together we just try and maintain order and keep an eye on the borders.”

“Borders? What borders?”

“Well, as you saw, the bridges are down on the North Fork Road and the Alpha Road. That’s pretty much our northern border. 508 was pretty much cut to heck out east by the Tilton River and slides. You can’t get to Highway 12 that way, anymore. The Newaukum River washed out 508 at the old highway, just like on the North Fork. So it’s pretty difficult to get east to the old I-5. We keep a well fortified and maintained road that hooks up to Highway 12 to the south. That’s where the folks from Toledo and Winlock come in for the market. And that’s our little local kingdom.”

“Well, Travis, it sounds like you’re pretty well organized.”

“Yes and no. We’re pretty much flying by the seat of our pants, but things seem to be settling into some kind of order. Right now, our borders are a pretty loose thing. But the Sheriff wants to know who comes and who goes. I’ll be writing up a short report about you and passing it on. But there seem to be fewer people coming in. Mostly folks with ties here to begin with. At first, there was a lot of going to the cities, or coming to the country. Mostly, going to the cities. Later, we might have to clamp down a bit. We hear there’s quit a bit of sickness down around Portland.”

“You heard? How did you hear?”

“That’s kind of an interesting story. One of the deputies kids, he was a real hellraiser. Turns out the kid was a real crackerjack when it comes to radio. Any kind of radio. Ham, shortwave, whatever. Most of them run on solar rechargeable batteries or crank systems. I’ve got a little radio here in my pack, but it’s only for real emergencies. Most farms have them and we can all keep in touch. And, we can keep in touch with Winlock and Toledo. And funny thing. The deputies kid has straightened right out. Seems like he and Brother Bob always have their heads together, cooking up something that either has to do with power or communications.”

“Well, you give a kid a little responsibility... Sometimes, it works out.”

“And, sometimes, it doesn’t. Well, here we are. I’ll stick a head in next week. I need to see a guy out this way about getting a horse. Then maybe I can rummage through your books a bit. Winter will be here before we know it, and I’ll have more time to read. Anything you need?”

“Nothing I can think of. Just your company. And, bring your girl by, sometime. I’d like to meet her. Oh, if you happen to run across any books in your salvaging, let me know. Anything, as long as it isn’t wet or moldy.

“Will do. Say hi to the Nelson’s for me.” The shook hands and parted company. The Hired Man pushed his bike up the long road to the farm and set the dogs to barking. He called them by name and they came running to him, jumping and begging for hugs and petting.

“Hello, the house!” he sang out. The door flew open and a large motherly woman of about his own age bustled down the steps and threw her arms around him.

“You made it! You’re here! Bill and I were so worried about you!” She stood back at arms length and considered him. “You’re a lot thinner. Well, I’ll take care of that. We were just sitting down to eat. Come join us and tell us what’s going on outside. About your trip. Oh, just everything!”

Bill hung back until Deb’s enthusiasm had run it’s course. He then stepped forward, shook The Hired Man’s hand and said, “Welcome. Glad you’re here. Another week and we were going to rent out your shack ... or use it for storage.”

“No such luck. I’m here for as long as you’ll have me. Or need me.”

With that, they all went in the house and sat down to a good meal.

Hail, Sterquilinus!

Sunday, November 6, 2011

Who Knew? Thom Hartmann

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

The Name of this Blog

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Monday, October 31, 2011

The Hired Man