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Book: The Wind From a Burning Woman: Six Stories of Science Fiction by Greg Bear
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Authors: Greg Bear
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The airport was something out of a TV space movie. It went on forever, with stairways going up to restaurants and big smoky windows that looked out on the screaming jets, and crowds of people, all leaving, except for one pear-shaped figure in a cotton print dress with fat ankles and glasses thick as headlamps. I knew her from a hundred yards.
When we met, she shook hands with Mom, hugged Dad as if she didnt want to, then bent down and gave me a smile. Her teeth were yellow and even, sound as a horses. She was the ugliest woman Id ever seen. She smelled of lilacs. To this day lilacs take my appetite away.
She carried a bag. Part of it was filled with knitting, part with books and pamphlets. I always wondered why she never carried a Biblejust Billy Grahams and Zondervans. One pamphlet fell out, and Dad bent to pick it up.
Keep it, read it, Auntie Danser instructed him. Do you good. She turned to Mom and scrutinized her from the bottom of a swimming pool. Youre looking good. He must be treating you right.
Dad ushered us out the automatic doors into the dry heat. Her one suitcase was light as a mummy and probably just as empty. I carried it, and it didnt even bring sweat to my brow. Her life was not in clothes and toiletry but in the plastic knitting bag.
We drove back to the farm in the big white station wagon. I leaned my head against the cool glass of the rear seat window and considered puking. Auntie Danser, I told myself, was like a mental dose of castor oil. Or like a visit to the dentist. Even if nothing was going to happen her smell presaged disaster, and like a horse sniffing a storm, my entrails worried.
Mom looked across the seat at meAuntie Danser was riding up front with Dadand asked, You feeling okay? Did they give you anything to eat? Anything funny?
I said theyd given me a piece of nut bread. Mom went, Oh, Lord.
Margie, they dont work like that. They got other ways. Auntie Danser leaned over the backseat and goggled at me. Boys just worried. I know all about it. These people and I have had it out before.
Through those murky glasses, her flat eyes knew me to my young pithy core. I didnt like being known so well. I could see that Auntie Dansers life was firm and predictable, and I made a sudden commitment. I liked the man and woman. They caused trouble, but they were the exact opposite of my great aunt. I felt better, and I gave her a reassuring grin. Boy will be okay, she said. Just a colic of the upset mind.
Michael and Barbara sat on the front porch as the car drove up. Somehow a visit by Auntie Danser didnt bother them as much as it did me. They didnt fawn over her, but they accepted her without complainingeven out of adult earshot. That made me think more carefully about them. I decided I didnt love them any the less, but I couldnt trust them, either. The world was taking sides, and so far on my side, I was very lonely. I didnt count the two old people on my side, because I wasnt sure they werebut they came a lot closer than anybody in my family.
Auntie Danser wanted to read Billy Graham books to us after dinner, but Dad snuck us out before Mom could gather us togetherall but Barbara, who stayed to listen. We watched the sunset from the loft of the old wood barn, then tried to catch the little birds that lived in the rafters. By dark and bedtime I was hungry, but not for food. I asked Dad if hed tell me a story before bed.
You know your mom doesnt approve of all that fairy-tale stuff, he said.
Then no fairy tales. Just a story.
Im out of practice, son, he confided. He looked very sad. Your mom says we should concentrate on things that are real and not waste our time with make-believe. Lifes hard. I may have to sell the farm, you know, and work for that feed-mixer in Mitchell.
I went to bed and felt like crying. A whole lot of my family had died that night, I didnt know exactly how, or why. But I was mad.
* * * *
I didnt go to school the next day. During the night Id had a dream, which
The airport was something out of a TV space movie. It went on forever, with stairways going up to restaurants and big smoky windows that looked out on the screaming jets, and crowds of people, all leaving, except for one pear-shaped figure in a cotton print dress with fat ankles and glasses thick as headlamps. I knew her from a hundred yards.
When we met, she shook hands with Mom, hugged Dad as if she didnt want to, then bent down and gave me a smile. Her teeth were yellow and even, sound as a horses. She was the ugliest woman Id ever seen. She smelled of lilacs. To this day lilacs take my appetite away.
She carried a bag. Part of it was filled with knitting, part with books and pamphlets. I always wondered why she never carried a Biblejust Billy Grahams and Zondervans. One pamphlet fell out, and Dad bent to pick it up.
Keep it, read it, Auntie Danser instructed him. Do you good. She turned to Mom and scrutinized her from the bottom of a swimming pool. Youre looking good. He must be treating you right.
Dad ushered us out the automatic doors into the dry heat. Her one suitcase was light as a mummy and probably just as empty. I carried it, and it didnt even bring sweat to my brow. Her life was not in clothes and toiletry but in the plastic knitting bag.
We drove back to the farm in the big white station wagon. I leaned my head against the cool glass of the rear seat window and considered puking. Auntie Danser, I told myself, was like a mental dose of castor oil. Or like a visit to the dentist. Even if nothing was going to happen her smell presaged disaster, and like a horse sniffing a storm, my entrails worried.
Mom looked across the seat at meAuntie Danser was riding up front with Dadand asked, You feeling okay? Did they give you anything to eat? Anything funny?
I said theyd given me a piece of nut bread. Mom went, Oh, Lord.
Margie, they dont work like that. They got other ways. Auntie Danser leaned over the backseat and goggled at me. Boys just worried. I know all about it. These people and I have had it out before.
Through those murky glasses, her flat eyes knew me to my young pithy core. I didnt like being known so well. I could see that Auntie Dansers life was firm and predictable, and I made a sudden commitment. I liked the man and woman. They caused trouble, but they were the exact opposite of my great aunt. I felt better, and I gave her a reassuring grin. Boy will be okay, she said. Just a colic of the upset mind.
Michael and Barbara sat on the front porch as the car drove up. Somehow a visit by Auntie Danser didnt bother them as much as it did me. They didnt fawn over her, but they accepted her without complainingeven out of adult earshot. That made me think more carefully about them. I decided I didnt love them any the less, but I couldnt trust them, either. The world was taking sides, and so far on my side, I was very lonely. I didnt count the two old people on my side, because I wasnt sure they werebut they came a lot closer than anybody in my family.
Auntie Danser wanted to read Billy Graham books to us after dinner, but Dad snuck us out before Mom could gather us togetherall but Barbara, who stayed to listen. We watched the sunset from the loft of the old wood barn, then tried to catch the little birds that lived in the rafters. By dark and bedtime I was hungry, but not for food. I asked Dad if hed tell me a story before bed.
You know your mom doesnt approve of all that fairy-tale stuff, he said.
Then no fairy tales. Just a story.
Im out of practice, son, he confided. He looked very sad. Your mom says we should concentrate on things that are real and not waste our time with make-believe. Lifes hard. I may have to sell the farm, you know, and work for that feed-mixer in Mitchell.
I went to bed and felt like crying. A whole lot of my family had died that night, I didnt know exactly how, or why. But I was mad.
* * * *
I didnt go to school the next day. During the night Id had a dream, which
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