The Sudden Star (10 page)

"No," she whispered fiercely, standing in front of Juan. "René likes him. You kill him and the old man'll be after you too. He won't talk, he's my friend. I'll make him swear it, he won't dare."

Juan looked up at the man. Aisha was right. The guy was probably scared enough without taking another risk. She leaned over him. "Swear you won't tell what happened," she said, "or Mura's Star'll strike you dead."

He groaned. It was a powerful oath; it would bind him forever. "I swear," he rasped.

"By the star."

"I swear by the star I won't tell."

"For God's sake," the man said. "Let's go." He pulled out his revolver. Juan filled his lungs, ready to scream; the man would kill him anyway.

"You can't be too careful," the man said as he brought the revolver down on the back of Juan's head.

Juan opened his eyes. It was dark; he didn't know where he was. He tried to move, and realized his hands were bound to his feet. His head throbbed painfully and his right arm, pressed against hard rock, felt bruised. He groaned.

Aisha, he thought. She had run away and made him swear by the star. He remembered now; an escaped convict had tied him up.

"Help," he called out weakly. His voice startled him. "Help." It sounded hollow in the silence. He was suddenly frightened of his helplessness; if they left him here, he would die. He screamed. "Help! It's Juan, help me! Help!" He filled his lungs and let out a long wordless scream.

Someone was thrashing about in the leaves. Boots appeared near his face; it was Ernie. The guard leaned over, cut his bonds with a knife, and helped him up.

"You little bastard," Ernie said. Juan wobbled on his feet, which felt as if they were full of sand. He stomped on one and groaned in pain.

"Been looking for you since that girl saw you were gone. Look at all the trouble you caused, you little prick." Ernie hit him on the side of the face. Juan fell, scraping his knees against the rock. Liquid filled his mouth; he retched, holding his stomach.

Ernie pulled him up and dragged him up the hill, pulling his arm cruelly. Juan staggered after him, moaning. Another guard met them and they continued to the clearing.

Ernie wrenched him toward a truck. Ildico was pacing wildly, clenching her hands. She stared blankly at Juan as he passed her. Ernie shoved him into the back of the truck.

René lay on a mattress, half of his dark face lighted by a lantern. Juan tried to sort out his thoughts. His head ached. Ernie climbed in, pushing Juan closer to the old man. Juan crawled toward the lantern and sat. Ernie squatted near him.

"What happened?" René said. "Why were you in the woods?"

"It was Aisha," Juan replied, trying to decide what to say. "See, she went into the woods, and I didn't want to get her in trouble, so I figured I'd follow her and find out where she was going." He thought of his oath, and cringed, then remembered that it only applied to talk about the doctor. He looked at the old man appealingly, batting his eyes.

"What happened then?"

"I don't know. She must've seen me coming and hit me over the head. That's all I remember." Juan rubbed his sore wrists.

Ernie said, "He was tied up."

"She must of found some rope," Juan said desperately. "Maybe she wanted to make sure I didn't come after her."

The old man was silent. Juan waited. At last René said, "Why did she leave?"

"She didn't want to go to the farm," Juan said. "She must of gone back to the city or something. You going after her?"

"You can leave us, Ernie," the old man said. The big man climbed out of the truck. Juan sat, feeling sick and sad. At least I'm alive, he thought. Aisha had saved his life. She was his friend, even if she had made a mess out of everything. He wondered if he would have done the same for her.

"It hurts," René said. "She could have had something. My daughter ran off like that. Let her go, I won't harbor trash. She can go to hell."

"I know," Juan said, remembering that the old guy liked loyalty. "I thought she was my friend. That's why I went after her." He tried to force a tear, but could not.

"Have William check that head," the old man said wearily. "Go on."

Juan got out of the truck, feeling tired. Ildico came up to him. "You look shitty," she said harshly. "Where's Aisha?" She pulled him away from the truck.

"She ran away. Be careful of my arm."

"Are they still looking for her?"

"Not any more."

"Shit." Ildico's face crumpled. "Shit."

"She hit me over the head."

"Don't you dare tell me that." She raised her arm.

"She did."

Ildico sighed and lowered her arm. "Damn her," she said. "She's stupid, stupid." She marched away.

Juan looked around for William. He felt an empty space inside his head. He wondered what would happen to Aisha. He imagined her moving through the forest with the doctor, winding through trees, stepping over twigs, pushing through underbrush; he would have to forget about her now. The two figures grew smaller, until they were hidden by the trees.

FIVE

Paula Boleyn

Paula Boleyn sat on the low stone wall, looking down at the meadow where the cows were grazing peacefully. The afternoon sun warmed her; she gazed at the wooded hills beyond the meadow, wishing somehow that they would change, that one day she would come out here and see something different. Strange, she thought. She felt less alone here, during the only time of the day when she could be by herself and think, than during the times she spent with the others.

The summer heat often made her feel weak, but she preferred it to the winters, the months when travel was almost impossible, the days when she was trapped inside. She had thought once that they were lucky to have a dairy farm; other farms had more trouble.

But now, she felt otherwise; the winters were longer and colder, the spring and summer seasons more unpredictable. The dairy, and other families, brought the farm's milk, and Paula's family grew most of their own food. But they lost a few cows each year; poisonous strains of grass appeared without warning. Their crops were often drowned in rain or starved for water. Occasionally a cow would sicken almost without warning, and become violent and dangerous before it was shot. The dairy, contending with the army's demands for more milk and cheese, was paying them less as a result.

Paula looked up at the large white house on the hill. It seemed to rule her, draining her energy. She was getting old; she was constantly reminded of it. Every morning she searched her light brown hair for gray strands and never found them. Her round, rosy-cheeked face looked the same. But the days were longer, more tiring. Her nights with Andy involved going through motions, getting the business finished, wishing she could just go to sleep. She was usually relieved when Andy, as he so often did now, simply patted her hand and went to sleep.

Guiltily she thought of the times she pretended to be asleep or told Andy she was too tired for sex. She usually told him that when she was sure she was ovulating. The urgency she had felt when they were first married had died. She recalled days when she had grown weak with wanting him, wishing he would make love to her during the day and not caring if everyone in the house knew and teased them for not waiting until night. But she had been fourteen then. She was thirty-two now, and growing old.

At least Andy was kind. Everyone thought Paula's sister Enid, the oldest and therefore the favorite, had done better, marrying Randolph Van Wyck. But Paula knew it wasn't true. Randolph was rich, and Enid would inherit the farm Paula's parents now owned, though she would probably have to rent it to tenants. But Randolph was fat, and mean, and entertained on his farm people Paula wouldn't have had in the kitchen—people from New York City, where Randolph did a lot of business.

She noticed her son Bert coming up the hill with Guy Solokov, one of their farmhands. She ran a hand anxiously through her short hair; Bert had to be married soon. She had to plan the match carefully. She watched him as he climbed with the bald, wiry Guy, and thought: Bert had been such a beautiful child. Now he was awkward and too thin, his black hair oily and unruly. His face was too pointed, and he never seemed to smile. Like most fifteen-year-olds, he was moody or angry. Sometimes he made her hate him. The kind, gentle little boy who would work hard and pick wildflowers for her was gone forever.

"Bert," she called, waving to him. "Bert!" He ignored her. Guy jostled him and pointed at Paula. Bert shrugged. As they came to the low stone wall, Guy hopped up on it briskly, jumped down, and continued toward the house. Bert, shoulders slouched, sat next to her.

"What is it?" he said morosely. She reached over and patted him on the shoulder. He recoiled and retreated, sitting down again where she could not reach him.

She said, "Have you thought about our talk last week?"

The boy shook his head.

"Haven't you considered it at all?"

Bert shook his head again. Why couldn't he have his father's eyes, Paula wondered. Andy's eyes were a deep blue; she used to put herself into a trance looking into them. Bert's were small and gray. "I don't want to push you, Bert," she went on, "but you'll be sixteen soon and you'll have to be married one of these days. I've been going to a lot of trouble trying to fix things for you."

"What if I don't want to bother?"

"Damn it," she muttered, suddenly irritated, "you're going to inherit this farm. You didn't want to go to the university to become a scholar, so, unless you want to become a migrant or go to the city and starve, you'll have to work it and have a family to leave it to." She brushed a fly off her trousers. "Which girl do you prefer?"

"I don't like Nancie Rosendahl, and Alice Raineau is so nicey-nice it makes me sick."

"You hardly know them," Paula said. "You've only met them a couple of times."

"Nancie's a snob, and Alice is bossy."

"Your father was right." Paula frowned and folded her arms. "I shouldn't have talked to you. I should have gone ahead. You don't know what's good for you. My parents didn't discuss my marriage with me, you can be sure. At least I'm giving you a choice. I practically have promises from Mrs. Raineau and the Rosendahls, if we decide to make a formal offer." She brushed a lock of hair from her face. "Nancie Rosendahl's an only child, so she'll get other offers if we don't move soon. I don't think her parents would have listened to me if they didn't think so much of Andy. And Alice may be poor, but she's very skilled, very practical, she'd make a good partner. And she's strong. She'll get other offers, too."

"Why can't I make up my own mind?"

"You can," she answered as calmly as she could. "You can choose Alice or Nancie."

Bert gazed at her sadly; he seemed vulnerable and lost. She wanted to hug him, but he would only push her away. He cleared his throat. "Paula," he said. His voice cracked. "I'm in love with somebody already."

She hugged herself with her arms and leaned forward. "Who is she?"

He hung his head. "You're not going to like it." He raised his head and glared at her. "I love Amy Shulash."

Paula felt as if she'd been slapped. "You can't be serious," she managed to say. Amy Shulash, the daughter of Zeno Carter's hired hand. She couldn't believe it. She had always liked the Carters, who were a large, friendly family with a small farm ten miles down, but she had not even considered Zeno's daughters for her son. "You know that's impossible, Bert."

"I love her. I think about her all the time. I can't help it."

"I don't care. You have to think of the farm."

"I'll inherit it anyway," Bert said angrily. "I'm the oldest."

"You won't if you marry Amy. Andy'll leave it to James." She paused, feeling that sounded too harsh. "Listen, you have to think of the farms, all of them. Marrying into another family is like making an alliance, it holds things together. Believe me, you won't feel the same way about Amy in a year or two. I know you don't think so now, but when you're older, you'll be glad you did the right thing. It's never easy, but if it was easy, we'd be good all the time, wouldn't we?" She smiled at him.

The boy stood up. "You don't understand. You were lucky with Andy, so you think everyone else is lucky too and ends up happy. But they don't. Look at Aunt Enid. She hates that bastard she married."

"She did her duty."

Bert said, "I have to go help Guy." He stomped off toward the barn.

Paula sat on the porch with Andy, trying to relax. She leaned back in her chair, putting her feet up on the railing. Andy was smoking marijuana to keep the bugs away; she sniffed at the smoke as it drifted past her. They didn't smoke much of it, needing most of it to pay off the army whenever soldiers came by.

He smiled at her and squeezed her hand gently. I'm lucky, she told herself silently; why can't I be happy? Her husband's dark hair was graying and there were lines on his face, but he was still lean and good-looking. He had married her late in life; his first wife had died in childbirth and his father, now dead, had forced him to divorce his second because she couldn't have children. Paula felt guilty when she thought of that, wishing she could tell Andy she didn't want any more children, that she could not go through that again. But he wouldn't understand.