Northern Lights. Tim O’BrienЧитать онлайн книгу.
‘What’s this great and wonderful secret?’ Harvey demanded.
‘Nothing. I swear. Tell him it’s nothing, Addie.’
‘If we told our secret, we would die and go to hell. That’s what happens when people tell their secrets. People must always keep all their secrets secret, if you follow me.’
‘Tell me,’ Harvey said.
Addie giggled. She still held Perry’s arm. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘But first you tell us your secret, Harvey. Tell us how you hurt your eye, all the gory stuff.’
Again the party poised.
‘Nothing,’ Harvey said softly.
‘Tell us all about the eye, Harvey. And tell us how you were a war hero.’
‘Nothing.’
‘Okay, then I’ll just have to tell you the sad facts,’ Addie laughed. ‘You see, Paul and I are running away together. To the badlands of South Dakota.’
Harvey stared at her. He was a bit drunk.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘We’re going to Rapid City or Deadwood. I’ll sell Indian carvings and Paul will … I don’t know what Paul will do. Anyway, that’s the secret. We’ve been planning it for ages.’
‘Rapid City,’ Harvey muttered.
‘Isn’t that a fine secret? Now you promised. Tell us about your eye.’
‘Crap.’
‘What? What’s that? Harvey, now you promised.’
‘This is a bunch of crap.’
‘It’s a fine secret,’ Addie teased.
‘I’m going to Africa,’ he said.
Addie shrugged and giggled. ‘Don’t be a silly. It wouldn’t be the same at all. Who’ll buy Indian carvings in Africa?’ She giggled and there was new movement around them, in the air and woods. It stopped. It became quiet and for the first time Perry felt the transformation. The air was soggy.
‘Wouldn’t touch the badlands,’ Harvey muttered.
‘It’s actually quite clean in the badlands,’ said Addie. ‘Isn’t it?’ She touched Perry’s arm.
‘Sterile,’ he said.
‘See? Ha! Paul’s taking me there.’
‘I don’t believe it.’
Addie moaned. ‘Tell him, Paul.’
‘Never.’
‘Oh, you will. Tell him you will.’
‘I won’t. Let’s go back to the party.’
‘You’re both silly,’ Addie said. She turned to Harvey. ‘I swear he promised.’
‘Never.’
‘Betrayed,’ she giggled.
Perry left them. The new forest motion was back. And there was sound. The groups were mingling. Like compounds forming, electrons splitting and taking new orbits, shared spheres. From somewhere, music was coming on to the lawn, the lanterns were swaying. Bishop Markham was lecturing, Jud Harmor was squinting towards the sky. There was a hum in the forest. Perry wondered if old Jud felt it, or heard it.
He watched Grace move through the crowds. It was a fine big party, she was good at it. She listened to people. She wore dresses; it wasn’t often she wasn’t in a dress: in the garden, walking, combing her hair out. She wormed through the crowd and hooked his arm. ‘Hungry?’ He shook his head. ‘You aren’t drunk?’
‘Nope. Don’t always ask that.’
‘A nice party, isn’t it?’ She was whispering.
‘Yeah. You did a nice job.’
‘Be nice then. Talk to people,’ she whispered.
‘Okay.’
‘You aren’t sick?’
‘I’m fine, hon.’ He pulled free and held a paper plate that leaked potato salad. ‘I’m okay, really. How are all your lovely church friends? How’s the Reverend Stenberg?’
‘Stop that. He’s a nice man.’
‘I know it. I’m sorry.’ He glanced over at the bomb shelter. Some luck, he thought. He rambled the yard and listened while people told him about things.
‘A heat storm.’
‘What?’
It was Jud. His hat was pushed back. ‘A heat storm,’ he said. ‘Just a heat storm.’
People began looking up.
‘Rain,’ said Bishop Markham. ‘It’s rain, all right.’ Bishop was GOP, Jud was Democratic-Farmer-Labour.
‘Shit,’ Jud cackled. He shook his head and winked at Perry. ‘Guess I know a heat storm when I see it.’
The first cool air came in one breath, and a dark splotch in the sky spread out, sliding down and out like a vast sheath or covering or mask. ‘Heat storm,’ said old Jud. He pulled his hat down to settle it. People stood with hands on hips to watch. Lars Nielson hustled his family to the car and drove away.
Others began to leave.
‘It’s a heat storm all right,’ said Jud Harmor. There was a single long wind and the lanterns blew horizontal. Jud’s face was turned up. ‘I can see it,’ he said.
The wind died, turned warm, then turned cold, then turned warm again. Headlights were snapping on.
‘Where’s Harvey?’ Grace was beside him. ‘People are leaving, he should be here.’
The wind whipped the tablecloths.
People rushed for their cars. Jud Harmor stood alone, gazing at the sky with hands on hips. The wind was rushing to Lake Superior. Motors and headlights and opalescent beacons were flaring. Perry carried things inside, rushing, returned for armloads of bottles and cups and plastic forks, papers and bottle openers, party trash, wrappings and containers and leftover birthday cake.
‘Where’s Harvey?’ someone hollered.
Perry folded up the chairs and carried them inside, stacked them on the porch. ‘Where the devil is Harvey?’
‘Heat storm, heat storm,’ Jud Harmor chanted. He was now in a lawn chair, his straw hat gone. His bony face was sawed into a million upward-thrust planes. his eyes were pointed to the sky. ‘Lo,’ he chanted, ‘a heat storm. Watch the mother come.’
Perry touched his shoulder. ‘Better be moving on, Jud. She’s coming in fast.’
The old man cackled. ‘Nothin’ but a miserable heat storm. Can’t see what all this fuss is. You won’t see but a heat storm.’ Lightning flashed and the old man’s skull shined like a jewel.
‘Okay, Jud.’
Grace came out wearing a sweater. She was hugging herself. ‘Where’s Harvey?’
The old mayor cackled. ‘Takin’ target practice. You two gotta watch that boy. Ha, ha!’ He started to cough.
Perry went to the shelter. Some rotten luck. Rusty old jealousy. The emotion surprised him. He climbed the bomb shelter and stood on its roof. The wind was hard. Lightning showered in big fluffy puffs, and through the forest, looking out to Route 18, he saw the parade of retreating tail-lights winding towards Sawmill Landing. He called out and listened and heard a soft answer. Some rotten miserable awful luck, he thought.
Inside the concrete shelter, lanterns swung from the ceiling and the old generator was going.
‘Ha! Not so crazy after all!’ Harvey was