Read Online Charles Beaumont: Selected Stories by Charles Beaumont - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Charles Beaumont
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Anderson said.
"You looked everywhere? You was real careful?"
"Yes, sir. Ain't nobody alive in the whole state."
Kroner nodded and made another check mark. "That's all, Andy. Next: Avakian, Katina."
A woman in a wool skirt and gray blouse walked up from the back, waving her arms. She started to speak.
Kroner tapped his stick. "Listen here for a second, folks," he said. "For those that don't know how to talk English, you know what this is all about-so when I ask my question, you nod up-and-down for yes (like this) and sideways (like this) for no. Makes it a lot easier for those of us as don't remember too good. All right?"
There were murmurings and whispered consultations and for a little while the yard was full of noise. The woman called Avakian kept nodding.
"Fine," Kroner said. "Now, Miss Avakian. You covered what? Iran, Iraq, Turkey, Syria. Did you-find-an-ybody a-live?"
The woman stopped nodding. "No," she said. "No, no."
Kroner checked the name. "Let's see here, Boleslavsky, Peter. You can go on back now, Miss Avakian."
A man in bright city clothes walked briskly to the tree clearing. "Yes, sir," he said.
"What have you got for us?"
The man shrugged. "Well, I tell you; I went over New York with a fine-tooth comb. Then I hit Brooklyn and Jersey. Nothin', man. Nothin' nowhere."
"He is right," a dark-faced woman said in a tremulous voice. "I was there too. Only the dead in the streets, all over, all over the city; in the cars I looked even, in the offices. Everywhere is people dead."
"Chavez, Pietro. Baja California."
"All dead, senor chief,"
"Ciodo, Ruggiero. Capri."
The man from Capri shook his head violently.
"Denman, Charlotte. Southern United States." "Dead as doornails…" "Elgar, Davis S…" "Ferrazio, Ignatz…" "Goldfarb, Bernard…" "Halpern…" "Ives… Kranek… O'Brian…"
The names exploded in the pale evening air like deep gunshots; there was much head-shaking, many people saying, "No. No."
At last Kroner stopped marking. He closed the notebook and spread his big workman's hands. He saw the round eyes, the trembling mouths, the young faces; he saw all the frightened people.
A girl began to cry. She sank to the damp ground, and covered her face and made these crying sounds. An elderly man put his hand on her head, The elderly man looked sad. But not afraid. Only the young ones seemed afraid,
"Settle down now," Kroner said firmly. "Settle on down. Now, listen to me, I'm going to ask you all the same question one more time, because we got to be sure." He waited for them to grow quiet. "All right. This here is all of us, everyone. \Ve've covered all the spots. Did anybody here find one single solitary sign of life?"
The people were silent. The wind had died again, so there was no sound at all. Across the corroded wire fence the gray meadows lay strewn with the carcasses of cows and horses and, in one of the fields, sheep. No flies buzzed near the dead animals; there were no maggots burrowing. No vultures; the sky was clean of birds. And in all the untended rolling hills of grass and weeds which had once sung and pulsed with a million voices, in all the land there was only this immense stillness now, still as years, still as the unheard motion of the stars.
Kroner watched the people. The young woman in the gay print dress; the tall African with his bright paint and cultivated scars; the fierce-looking Swede looking not so fierce now in this graying twilight. He watched all the tall and short and old and young people from all over the world, pressed together now, a vast silent polyglot in this country meeting place, this always lonely and long-deserted spot-deserted even before the gas bombs and the disease and the flying pestilences that had covered the earth in three days and three nights. Deserted. Forgotten.
"Talk to us, Jim," the woman who had handed him the notebook said. She was new,
Kroner put the list inside his big overalls pocket.
"Tell us," someone else said. "How shall we be
"You looked everywhere? You was real careful?"
"Yes, sir. Ain't nobody alive in the whole state."
Kroner nodded and made another check mark. "That's all, Andy. Next: Avakian, Katina."
A woman in a wool skirt and gray blouse walked up from the back, waving her arms. She started to speak.
Kroner tapped his stick. "Listen here for a second, folks," he said. "For those that don't know how to talk English, you know what this is all about-so when I ask my question, you nod up-and-down for yes (like this) and sideways (like this) for no. Makes it a lot easier for those of us as don't remember too good. All right?"
There were murmurings and whispered consultations and for a little while the yard was full of noise. The woman called Avakian kept nodding.
"Fine," Kroner said. "Now, Miss Avakian. You covered what? Iran, Iraq, Turkey, Syria. Did you-find-an-ybody a-live?"
The woman stopped nodding. "No," she said. "No, no."
Kroner checked the name. "Let's see here, Boleslavsky, Peter. You can go on back now, Miss Avakian."
A man in bright city clothes walked briskly to the tree clearing. "Yes, sir," he said.
"What have you got for us?"
The man shrugged. "Well, I tell you; I went over New York with a fine-tooth comb. Then I hit Brooklyn and Jersey. Nothin', man. Nothin' nowhere."
"He is right," a dark-faced woman said in a tremulous voice. "I was there too. Only the dead in the streets, all over, all over the city; in the cars I looked even, in the offices. Everywhere is people dead."
"Chavez, Pietro. Baja California."
"All dead, senor chief,"
"Ciodo, Ruggiero. Capri."
The man from Capri shook his head violently.
"Denman, Charlotte. Southern United States." "Dead as doornails…" "Elgar, Davis S…" "Ferrazio, Ignatz…" "Goldfarb, Bernard…" "Halpern…" "Ives… Kranek… O'Brian…"
The names exploded in the pale evening air like deep gunshots; there was much head-shaking, many people saying, "No. No."
At last Kroner stopped marking. He closed the notebook and spread his big workman's hands. He saw the round eyes, the trembling mouths, the young faces; he saw all the frightened people.
A girl began to cry. She sank to the damp ground, and covered her face and made these crying sounds. An elderly man put his hand on her head, The elderly man looked sad. But not afraid. Only the young ones seemed afraid,
"Settle down now," Kroner said firmly. "Settle on down. Now, listen to me, I'm going to ask you all the same question one more time, because we got to be sure." He waited for them to grow quiet. "All right. This here is all of us, everyone. \Ve've covered all the spots. Did anybody here find one single solitary sign of life?"
The people were silent. The wind had died again, so there was no sound at all. Across the corroded wire fence the gray meadows lay strewn with the carcasses of cows and horses and, in one of the fields, sheep. No flies buzzed near the dead animals; there were no maggots burrowing. No vultures; the sky was clean of birds. And in all the untended rolling hills of grass and weeds which had once sung and pulsed with a million voices, in all the land there was only this immense stillness now, still as years, still as the unheard motion of the stars.
Kroner watched the people. The young woman in the gay print dress; the tall African with his bright paint and cultivated scars; the fierce-looking Swede looking not so fierce now in this graying twilight. He watched all the tall and short and old and young people from all over the world, pressed together now, a vast silent polyglot in this country meeting place, this always lonely and long-deserted spot-deserted even before the gas bombs and the disease and the flying pestilences that had covered the earth in three days and three nights. Deserted. Forgotten.
"Talk to us, Jim," the woman who had handed him the notebook said. She was new,
Kroner put the list inside his big overalls pocket.
"Tell us," someone else said. "How shall we be
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