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winter. And he'll take some new stuff of the ville and mebbe of us. Process it tonight and we can watch it
tomorrow."
"Terrific."
Krysty was so excited that she missed the bitterness first time around.
"Yeah, lover. I can hardly wait."
"I don't mind waiting."
This time the red anger coated every syllable, unmistakable and out in the open.
Krysty had closed the door softly behind her, coming across the small room to sit beside Ryan on the
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narrow bed, laying her hand on his stubbled cheek.
"Want me to shave you, lover?"
"No!" The silence stretched for a dozen heartbeats. "Yeah, all right."
"I'm real sorry, Ryan. It was stupe of me to go on about this film show. I'll stay here with you this
afternoon."
That was the moment that Ryan felt closest to tears. Not only was he washed in his own self-pity because
he wouldn't be able to see the precious movies, but now the person he loved most in the world was
offering to miss them on his behalf.
"You don't have to stay away," he mumbled. "No need for us both to not see them."
She kissed him, arms around his neck, holding him tight. "Stupe of me, lover," she whispered.
"No, it wasn't. I know Mildred says that the sight could come back in a few days butbut I can't build my
hopes on that. Trader said a man who wouldn't face facts was a man who wouldn't face up to living."
"What did Trader know about the problem you have?"
"Trader knew plenty about plenty, Krysty. And he was right. I'm blind. Sure, there's a long shot it might
go. Like it might snow in New Mexico in July. Doesn't happen often. So, the sooner I face it, the better
for all of us. I'll come to the vids and you can tell me what's going on. All right?"
"All right."
FRESHLY SHAVED, Ryan stepped out into the bright afternoon air, pausing on the porch of the
Banbury Hotel.
"Is it just my imagination, or is the vile smell of damp going away a little?" he asked Krysty, who was
holding his arm.
"Your imagination. When I pulled on my boots this morning I could swear there was already mildew
growing in them. You could farm mushrooms in the corner under the bed."
Ryan turned his face, staring up into the sky. "Sunny?"
"Some. Patches of high cloud. Signs of thunderheads over to the west. Could rain later."
Ryan opened and shut his "good" eye, trying to distinguish some difference. But there was none. Other
than the now-familiar brightly colored floaters, his vision was as black as a sealed kiva at midnight.
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"Looks like most of Bramton's going along to the show. Dozens of them."
Ryan nodded. "Not surprising. Frontier ville like this, way out in the boonies, probably don't get much in
the way of visiting entertainment."
"True enough. No sign of anybody who looks like they might be linked to a baron or this mysterious
Family that we heard about. Just plain folks."
"How far's the butcher's?"
"Close. You could almost spit one end of the main street to the other."
FOR RYAN, IT WAS AN HOUR or more of almost total boredom. He would have given a handful of
top jack to have been able to see the scenes that Krysty whispered to him, above the whirring of the 16
mm projector and the oohs and aahs of the packed crowd.
Oddly his strongest memory of that film show was of hot, fresh-spilled blood.
The butcher had been slaughtering that very morning, and the carcasses of a half dozen sheep, some
calves and a couple of roe deer were hanging on steel hooks from the ceiling, eviscerated and dripping
blood.
The screen was a near-white sheet that Forde had unfolded from the back of his rig, setting it up on one
wall. Benches and chairs were brought from all over the ville, but Krysty told Ryan that a lot of people
were still standing, packed at the back of the airless, stinking room.
The films rolled by.
Ryan could tell from the reaction of the audience that some of them were fairly amazing.
"Gaia! This one must have been made at the end of the long winters. It's in black-and-white, not color.
Shows banks of snow around the edges of some real big city."
"Duluth," Johannes Forde said from the middle of the room, where he was controlling his precious
projector. "Tin was labeled, else I'd never have known. Frozen sea is one of the Great Lakes. Not sure
which."
"It is most likely Lake Superior," called out Doc from close by Ryan.
"People look rad sick and raggedy," Krysty breathed. "Faces all waxen and lined and dirty."
Dean sat on the other side of his father. "Never seen such poor folk," he said.
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Ryan could tell from the catch in his son's voice just how bleak and affecting the films had to be.
Next came a color film of a chem storm.
"Must be real early, as well," was Krysty's comment. "You can see all sorts of space junk burning up and
coming down through the lightning."
Ryan had often seen a similar spectacle, though it had definitely decreased in frequency in the past few
years. The detritus was largely the residue of the ill-fated Star Wars element of the Totality Concept, bits
of missile launchers, tracking devices and laser guns blown apart during the brief holocaust of skydark,
circling Earth in their own eccentric orbits, dropping lower and lower, until they flared through the
atmosphere and burned back again.
Again, the effect on the audience was spectacular. There was calling, yelling and cheering, with one or
two of the oldsters trying to explain that their mothers and fathers had lived through these times, passing
on their tales to anyone who'd listen.
It was the first time that Ryan had been aware of any reaction from the people of Bramton. The only ones
he'd heard speaking had been John Winthrop, who turned out to be the ville's mayor, and the owner of the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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