impaled by a long silver stake from pommel to belly. Speedy gently put the wrench on the ground. ‘Are you ready to talk now, son?’ he asked.
CHAPTER FOUR
JACK GOES OVER
----
1
‘Yes, I’m ready now,’ Jack said in a perfectly calm voice, and then burst into tears.
‘Say, Travellin Jack,’ Speedy said, dropping his wrench and coming to him. ‘Say, son, take her easy, take her easy now . . .’
But Jack couldn’t take her easy. Suddenly it was too much, all of it, too much, and it was cry or just sink under a great wave of blackness – a wave which no bright streak of gold could illuminate. The tears hurt, but he sensed the terror would kill him if he did not cry it out.
‘You do your weepin, Travellin Jack,’ Speedy said, and put his arms around him. Jack put his hot, swollen face against Speedy’s thin shirt, smelling the man’s smell – something like Old Spice, something like cinnamon, something like books that no one has taken out of the library in a long time. Good smells, comforting smells. He groped his arms around Speedy; his palms felt the bones in Speedy’s back, close to the surface, hardly covered by scant meat.
‘You weep if it put you easy again,’ Speedy said, rocking him. ‘Sometimes it does. I know. Speedy knows how far you been, Travellin Jack, and how far you got to go, and how you tired. So you weep if it put you easy.’
Jack barely understood the words – only the sounds of them, soothing and calming.
‘My mother’s really sick,’ he said at last against Speedy’s chest. ‘I think she came here to get away from my father’s old partner. Mr Morgan Sloat.’ He sniffed mightily, let go of Speedy, stepped back, and rubbed at his swollen eyes with the heels of his hands. He was surprised at his lack of embarrassment – always before, his tears had disgusted and shamed him . . . it was almost like peeing your pants. Was that because his mother had always been so tough? He supposed that was part of it, all right; Lily Cavanaugh had little use for tears.
‘But that ain’t the only reason she come here, was it?’
‘No,’ Jack said in a low voice. ‘I think . . . she came here to die.’ His voice rose impossibly on the last word, making a squeak like an unoiled hinge.
‘Maybe,’ Speedy said, looking at Jack steadily. ‘And maybe you here to save her. Her . . . and a woman just like her.’
‘Who?’ Jack said through numb lips. He knew who. He didn’t know her name, but he knew who.
‘The Queen,’ Speedy said. ‘Her name is Laura DeLoessian, and she is the Queen of the Territories.’
2
‘Help me,’ Speedy grunted. ‘Catch old Silver Lady right under the tail. You be takin liberties with the Lady, but I guess she ain’t gonna mind if you’re helpin me get her back where she belongs.’
‘Is that what you call her? Silver Lady?’
‘Yeah-bob,’ Speedy said, grinning, showing perhaps a dozen teeth, top and bottom. ‘All carousel horses is named, don’t you know that? Catch on, Travellin Jack!’
Jack reached under the white horse’s wooden tail and locked his fingers together. Grunting, Speedy wrapped his big brown hands around the Lady’s forelegs. Together they carried the wooden horse over to the canted dish of the carousel, the pole pointing down, its far end sinister with layers of Quaker State oil.
‘Little to the left . . .’ Speedy gasped. ‘Yeah . . . now peg her, Travellin Jack! Peg her down good!’
They seated the pole and then stood back, Jack panting, Speedy grinning and gasping wheezily. The black man armed sweat from his brow and then turned his grin on Jack.
‘My, ain’t we cool?’
‘If you say so,’ Jack answered, smiling.
‘I say so! Oh yes!’ Speedy reached into his back pocket and pulled out the dark green pint bottle. He unscrewed the cap, drank – and for a moment Jack felt a weird certainty: he could see through Speedy. Speedy had become transparent, as ghostly as one of the spirits on the Topper show,
CHAPTER FOUR
JACK GOES OVER
----
1
‘Yes, I’m ready now,’ Jack said in a perfectly calm voice, and then burst into tears.
‘Say, Travellin Jack,’ Speedy said, dropping his wrench and coming to him. ‘Say, son, take her easy, take her easy now . . .’
But Jack couldn’t take her easy. Suddenly it was too much, all of it, too much, and it was cry or just sink under a great wave of blackness – a wave which no bright streak of gold could illuminate. The tears hurt, but he sensed the terror would kill him if he did not cry it out.
‘You do your weepin, Travellin Jack,’ Speedy said, and put his arms around him. Jack put his hot, swollen face against Speedy’s thin shirt, smelling the man’s smell – something like Old Spice, something like cinnamon, something like books that no one has taken out of the library in a long time. Good smells, comforting smells. He groped his arms around Speedy; his palms felt the bones in Speedy’s back, close to the surface, hardly covered by scant meat.
‘You weep if it put you easy again,’ Speedy said, rocking him. ‘Sometimes it does. I know. Speedy knows how far you been, Travellin Jack, and how far you got to go, and how you tired. So you weep if it put you easy.’
Jack barely understood the words – only the sounds of them, soothing and calming.
‘My mother’s really sick,’ he said at last against Speedy’s chest. ‘I think she came here to get away from my father’s old partner. Mr Morgan Sloat.’ He sniffed mightily, let go of Speedy, stepped back, and rubbed at his swollen eyes with the heels of his hands. He was surprised at his lack of embarrassment – always before, his tears had disgusted and shamed him . . . it was almost like peeing your pants. Was that because his mother had always been so tough? He supposed that was part of it, all right; Lily Cavanaugh had little use for tears.
‘But that ain’t the only reason she come here, was it?’
‘No,’ Jack said in a low voice. ‘I think . . . she came here to die.’ His voice rose impossibly on the last word, making a squeak like an unoiled hinge.
‘Maybe,’ Speedy said, looking at Jack steadily. ‘And maybe you here to save her. Her . . . and a woman just like her.’
‘Who?’ Jack said through numb lips. He knew who. He didn’t know her name, but he knew who.
‘The Queen,’ Speedy said. ‘Her name is Laura DeLoessian, and she is the Queen of the Territories.’
2
‘Help me,’ Speedy grunted. ‘Catch old Silver Lady right under the tail. You be takin liberties with the Lady, but I guess she ain’t gonna mind if you’re helpin me get her back where she belongs.’
‘Is that what you call her? Silver Lady?’
‘Yeah-bob,’ Speedy said, grinning, showing perhaps a dozen teeth, top and bottom. ‘All carousel horses is named, don’t you know that? Catch on, Travellin Jack!’
Jack reached under the white horse’s wooden tail and locked his fingers together. Grunting, Speedy wrapped his big brown hands around the Lady’s forelegs. Together they carried the wooden horse over to the canted dish of the carousel, the pole pointing down, its far end sinister with layers of Quaker State oil.
‘Little to the left . . .’ Speedy gasped. ‘Yeah . . . now peg her, Travellin Jack! Peg her down good!’
They seated the pole and then stood back, Jack panting, Speedy grinning and gasping wheezily. The black man armed sweat from his brow and then turned his grin on Jack.
‘My, ain’t we cool?’
‘If you say so,’ Jack answered, smiling.
‘I say so! Oh yes!’ Speedy reached into his back pocket and pulled out the dark green pint bottle. He unscrewed the cap, drank – and for a moment Jack felt a weird certainty: he could see through Speedy. Speedy had become transparent, as ghostly as one of the spirits on the Topper show,
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