The Homeward Bounders (25 page)

Then I turned round and went away. I didn't want to be a living Fred to them. I went quite fast, but he came after me. Beard and all, he was not so unlike my father, and my father would have run after his great-uncle too. “Hey!” he shouted. “Let me see to that arm anyway!” Which shows he understood.

“No thanks,” I shouted. “You've got one Fred!” Then I ran and left him standing by his shiny poetic car.

I ran back downhill. I wanted to check up on that canal. I'd remembered it wrong all these years. And how
many
years was the real shock! I hadn't thought I'd spent a hundred years Homeward Bound. What fooled me was the way time jerks about from world to world. I thought it went on in one place and stayed the same at Home. But I have been on over a hundred worlds, and I suppose it does average out at a year a world. So I suppose it was no wonder that I'd forgotten and things had changed.

But, you see, I hadn't forgotten, not really. The moment I first saw those canal arches, I'd known. But I just wouldn't believe it. I just couldn't believe that even
They
could be such cheats. I'd gone about working overtime not to believe it. I'd noticed all the differences, as hard as I could, and all the time the sameness had been creeping, creeping up on me. I'd known as soon as my head banged that statue that
They
had sent me Home. Except that I wasn't Home. I never could be.

When I was halfway to the canal, the Bounds called.

Wasn't that just like
Them
?
They
crush us in seconds,
They
sling us every which way,
They
make sure I know just what cruel joke
They
've been playing all these years—
They
give me just time enough—and then
They
get straight back to
Their
game. There came the well-known dragging and yearning. I stood still and quivered with it.

It was coming from right behind me. I think it was from those vegetable patches after all. If that was the nearest Boundary, that meant I had quite a way to go. And on Sunday, with no money, in a world with all those rules and regulations, I was going to have a hard time getting there. I turned round to answer the call and start getting there. I didn't mind leaving. Nothing mattered anymore.

Then I stopped. If nothing mattered anymore, then
They
didn't matter either. “Why should I keep on letting you push me about?” I said to
Them
. “I'm going where I want to go for once.”

I knew where I wanted to go. And I turned right round again. There was another Boundary much nearer. The Old Fort and the triangular garden must be a Boundary, or Joris's instrument wouldn't have gone mad there. It was sealed off from the city somehow. That was why it was so silent in there. But I knew it was a Boundary, and I was going to use it and go where I wanted and spite
Them
.

The call is hard enough to bear if something stops you answering it. If you turn your back on it on purpose, it gets quite horrible. But I knew it could be done. I'd done it on that cattle-world eighty years ago. And I think all the things Konstam had made me hang round my neck and strap on my wrists helped quite a bit. Konstam knew his job, even if he had underestimated
Them
. Konstam was quite something. I mean, Helen and I got fed up with Joris for talking about Konstam all the time, but it was easy to see why he did. I thought it wouldn't take me long, in my next world, to buttonhole the first Homeward Bounder I met and tell him all about Konstam too. My friend Konstam the demon hunter. Konstam raging round the hall telling me to catch rats for Helen.

The call dragged and tore and choked at me. I had to lean forward to move against it. I remember two or three people I passed staring at me—a boy with a bleeding arm and a black badge on his chest, walking downhill to the canal as if he were climbing Everest. I must have looked odd. But I kept going, thinking of my friends. Joris and Adam and Vanessa. It occurred to me that Vanessa and Konstam had fallen in love. In which case, they must be feeling terrible now. That was why Konstam had spanked Adam, of course—not out of righteous indignation—because Adam's offer tempted him. He probably knew the rest of the Khans wouldn't stand for him owning two slaves.

Then I thought of Helen. That was when I was trying to climb the wall into the garden, and it was really hard work. Helen hiding a withered arm in another arm made of spirit, just like she hid her face in her hair. Helen taking the Archangel out of me and snarling and snapping. She couldn't thank people, Helen. She hated saying thank you. As I said, Helen, my friendly neighborhood enemy. I wasn't likely to be in the same neighborhood as Helen, ever again.

That got me over the wall. And
wham
! The Bounds called from the other way at once—pulling and yelling and wrenching me towards the green dip in the center of the triangle.

But I didn't answer them even then. I'd taken care to climb the wall as near the Fort as I could get. I shoved through the bushes and crunched across the gravel and glared in through the window at
Them. They
left
Their
machines and backed away from me.
They
were really nervous of me. I couldn't see why
They
should be, but I was glad. I made a face at
Them
. It was the only thing left to be glad about.

Then I let myself answer the call at last. It came so hard I had to run, crashing through the bushes and careering down the slope of grass. But at the bottom, I dug my heels in the turf and went slow. I didn't want to whizz straight to the Boundary and crash off just anywhere. There was one particular place I wanted to go. Mind you, I wasn't sure I could get there, but I was determined to try.

So I crept up to that white statue as if I was stalking it. And when I was about a yard away from it, I stopped. I knew the Boundary must be just beside it. I leaned forward, very, very carefully, and I laid hold of one of those amazing carved stone chains hanging on the statue. When I had hold of it, I pulled myself towards the statue with it, gently, gently, and all the time I thought hard of the person the statue was really of. Him chained to his rock.

And I did it. A very severe twitch happened.

He was really surprised to see me. He had been sort of hanging backwards, the way he was before, with his head tipped further back and his eyes shut. When I landed on his ledge his eyes shot open and he jumped—really jumped. He may not have been human, but he had feelings just like I did. And he was astonished.

“I didn't expect to see you again,” he said, and he carefully dragged a loop of massive teardrop chain away from just beside me. I could have touched it and been gone again the next second.

It seemed to me that his voice had trembled a bit. It was more than astonishment. He was ten times lonelier than I was. I took a careful look at him. His wound was no worse than before, which is not saying much, and his clothes were perhaps a bit more ragged. He had made a bit of progress with the red beard he seemed to be growing, but that was all. He hadn't changed any more than I had. He was just as cold, and wet all over.

“Yes, you're right out of luck,” I said, joking to cheer him up a bit. “One of
Them
tried to make me forget all about you, but unfortunately for you, a dog rattled its chain at me a minute after, and I called you to mind again. I've come to get you another drink of water.”

“That's very kind of you,” he said, smiling. “But I'm not so thirsty this time. Someone gave me a drink a while ago, and it's raining. I've been drinking the rain.”

He was right it was raining. The weather was lousy up there. It was raining in chilly, mizzling gusts that covered us both with little fine drops, like miniatures of those great links of his chains. “Are you sure?” I said.

“Sure,” he said.

I sat myself down on the wet rock, leaning against the crag beside him, as near as I could get without touching the chains. There was no fog this time, only driving rain-clouds, but there was not what I'd call much of a view. Nothing but drizzling pink rocks. His rock was turned away from the sea.
They
hadn't even allowed him that much pleasure. While I was thinking that this was not much to look at for all eternity, I noticed that the rocks were the same as the granite the Old Fort was built of. I wondered if
They
'd chosen it for hardness, or for some other reason.

“Who was it gave you a drink?” I said. “Anyone I know?”

“Ahasuerus,” he said.

“Oh him,” I said. “I met him a couple of days ago. How mad is he?”

“Pretty mad,” he said. “He's worse every time he comes here.”

Now, I had meant to ask if
They
did anything to stop Ahasuerus coming, and if not, why not. But, somehow, the thought of Ahasuerus set me off. It was just as if I were Joris and someone had mentioned Konstam. Everything seemed to drop away and leave just me. “But he's not quite crazy,” I said. “He talked some sense. He knew how it felt. I don't blame him for being crazy after all those years. He talked about hope being a millstone round your neck—and he was right! That's just what it is. You're so busy staggering along hoping, that you can't see the truth. He told me the truth. I was too busy hoping to see it. He said
They
lead you along with hope. And that's just what
They
do!
They
kick you out and set you going from world to world, and
They
promise you that if you can get Home, the rules allow you to stay there. Rules! Utter cheat.
They
knew, as well as I do now, that no one who's a Homeward Bounder can
ever
get Home. It just can't be done.”

“What's happened then?” he asked. He was really sorry for me. It always beat me how he could think of anyone else in his situation, but he could.

“What's happened,” I said, “is that I've been Home, and it wasn't my Home anymore. I was exactly a hundred years too late for it.”

And I told him all that had happened. But you know how you can talk and have other things go through your mind at the same time. While I talked away, I heard myself talking in English, and I saw him nodding, and heard the chains drag when he did, and I knew he understood every word. And I understood when he said things like “And then what?” or laughed about Helen and the rat. Helen had told me she was taught English because it was the right language for the ways of the worlds. I always thought
They
spoke English. But that was another cheat, or maybe another mistake of mine. It was quite another language. It was just that I could understand it as part of being able to see
Them
. And I understood him for the same reason.

I told him about our useless attempt to invade
Their
Real Place. “And all
They
did was sling us straight out again, really,” I said. “
They
slung me so that I hit my head on a rotten statue that's supposed to be you, and I sat up and knew I was Home. Only it wasn't Home. It was all changed and gone. And I know
They
did it on purpose.
They
wanted to show me I hadn't got a
hope
!”

“You may be wronging
Them
there,” he said.

“Don't you try to be fair to
Them
,” I said. “Even you can't.”

“All I meant was that
They
may have sent you Home,” he said, “as a way of stopping you bothering
Them
.”

“No,” I said. “
They
had the Bounds call me right after that. I'm still a Homeward Bounder. Only I'm not Bound to any Home. I'm just bound the way you are. I can see that now.”

There was a bit of a silence. The cold rain made little pittering sounds, and the wind sighed. Then he shifted in his chains, sort of cautiously. I didn't blame him for being restive. He must have ached all over.

“Perhaps you could fetch me a drink, after all,” he said.

I got up at once and started edging past the chains. I was glad he'd asked, since it was what I'd come here for. As I shuffled sideways past him, it did strike me that he was standing differently, standing not leaning, but I thought nothing of it. He had to ease his bones somehow.

I got to the place where I had to climb over the chains because they were hooked up on the anchor. I stopped to look at that anchor. I could have sworn it was rustier than last time.

“You can put your hand on the anchor,” he said, “when you climb over. As long as you don't touch the chains.” There was a sort of edge to his voice as he said that, which I didn't understand. It was almost as if he was nervous.

He's keener for a drink than he'll say, I thought. I wished he had let me get him one straightaway. And I put my hand on the big pointed fluke of the anchor, ready to hoist a leg over the chains.

It was a wonder I didn't pitch forward onto my face. There was a sort of trembling to everything, right through the rock, combined with a strong sideways twitch. I thought I must have touched a chain after all. But I was still there, holding the fluke of the anchor. And that great sharp piece of iron was sinking and shifting under my hand. It split as it sank, into dozens of pointed orange slivers. You know the way iron goes when it rusts. And that anchor rusted as I touched it—rusted so badly in half a second that it was crumbling away into orange dust and bluish flakes before I could get my hand off it. It didn't stop when I let go of it, either. While I was swaying about to get balanced it went on crumbling and flaking, the ring and the shank too, as well as the fluke.