“There’s more.”
There are a few compensations to being eighty-two, Esther thought One was that you could embarrass busybody authorities. Every year, small armies of cops descended on the area, usually in September, thrashing about in the woods in camouflage uniforms, purporting to search for marijuana crops. Every year, there were horror stories, mostly of completely innocent citizens being terrorized in their own homes. Every year, a few dozen pot plants were discovered and triumphantly displayed to the press—as if this somehow justified helicopters buzzing homes, roadblocks, and God only knew how much expenditure of tax money.
Afterward, the County and State would invariably spend more defending themselves from lawsuits than they realized in fines. Prabaht always claimed that creating employment for lawyers was the primary purpose of the whole affair. “No one grows a commercial crop around here anyhow. It’s too hard to hide. There’s not enough places with that much natural water.”
Whatever the reason, Esther kept her eyes open, since she really did grow herself a small pot crop. On two occasions in the last five years, she caught investigators snooping around. Once, the man was a stranger, alone. She ranted at him about property rights and fences. The other time, it was a local deputy she had known all his life. Esther threatened to shoot his balls off. She was certain her white hair greatly improved the effectiveness of this strategy.
Peter lit the pipe and passed it to Esther. She sat down in her chair, raised the pipe in dedication, and smoked. Peter squatted next to her.
Just a moment after they were done, the chickens started squawking. Peter jumped to the window. “I think there’s someone out there,” he said.
Esther stood slowly and joined Peter at the window. A furtive figure dashed from a clump of live oak to a clump of juniper. Esther realized, as she stood beside her great-grandson, that Jennifer had sent him to her not for her protection but for his. This realization improved both Esther’s feeling for her daughter and her self-confidence.
Esther smoothed the maroon sweat shirt she was wearing today and walked across the room. She cleared her throat and opened the door. “Hey, Prabaht!” she called.
“Everything all right?” Prabaht called back from behind his juniper.
“Of course. Come on down.”
Prabaht wore olive-green pants and an emerald-green long-sleeved shirt, his idea of camouflage, not altogether relevant amid the sparse vegetation of the largely autumn-brown hillside. He had smudged charcoal on his face, wore a handgun at his side in a holster originally made for a larger model, and had a twelve-gauge shotgun slung over his shoulder by a dirty piece of rope. He looked with blatant suspicion at the motorcycle.
“You know Peter,” Esther said.
Prabaht’s smudged face registered confusion.
“My great-grandson,” Esther added. “He’s here… hiding out.”
It was the last comment that finally made sense to Prabaht. “Ah!” Prabaht had spent the whole morning sneaking around the hills. Since he hadn’t spoken to anyone, he had no idea what was going on.
“More or less normal in town,” said Peter, “except not a lot was open, and the electric was out.”
“Hramm,” said Prabaht portentiously.
Tellez, population four hundred, including outlying homes such as Esther’s, was the county seat, and the biggest community in eighty miles. Somewhere else, a town so small might be lucky to have a variety store. Due to distance, Tellez supported, if marginally, a variety of businesses, from an auto parts/chain saw repair shop to something that called itself a boutique (known locally as The House of Bad Taste), lodged in a rat-infested trailer that would have been condemned by the Health Department someplace with enough population to have a Health Department.
“I need to take a little rest,” said Esther. “While you’re figuring out what’s happened to the world, see if you can find where the chickens are roosting.”
Esther lay down and slept for an hour. When she woke, she could hear Prabaht and Peter talking quietly outside, and could smell coffee. A shadow called her attention to the sky. A few little clouds were coming in from the northwest.
Esther patted her hair and sweat shirt into shape, then set a fresh pot of beans to soak. She jumped when the phone rang. She heard Peter laugh, and glanced out the window. The phone had so startled Prabaht that he had fallen on his face. Esther wondered how much coffee he had drunk—and whether he had eaten anything.
The phone didn’t ring a second time, but Esther picked it up. Nothing. She hung it up and stood a few seconds, then started back across the room. The phone tinked once as if it was trying to ring. Esther picked it up again. This time there was a dial tone.
Peter stuck his head in the door.
“I believe the phone’s fixed,” Esther said. “Maybe we should let your grandmother know you arrived safely.”
“Tell her in code,” said Prabaht.
Esther seldom made long distance calls on daytime rates, but she thought that she really should call Jennifer, as much to be sure everything was all right down there as to tell her that Peter had arrived. Esther dialed Jennifer’s number. The phone emitted the quick buzz of a busy circuit. She tried several more times, but didn’t get through. She decided to try a local number. She thought a moment, then dialed the Senior Center. This time she got the longer buzz of a busy line. She tried again, and it rang.
“Tellez Senior Center. Lucy Meadowcroft speaking.”
“Lucy, this is Esther Pernion. The phone’s been out. I just wanted to see if it’s working again.”
“Are you all right?” Lucy asked.
“I’m fine, thank you. Do you know what’s been going on?”
“Not really, but it’s not good.” That was what Esther liked about the Tellez Senior Center Director. Lucy didn’t think that you were an idiot just because you were old. “There’s been some sort of civil upheaval nationwide. The news doesn’t make a lot of sense. You don’t have TV, do you?”
“No.”
“I guess we can be thankful we’re not in Albuquerque. The electricity’s still out. We’re fixing meals here for anyone who needs it.”
“I’ve got my own electric,” Esther said.
Prabaht gestured and stage-whispered, “Don’t. Phone taps.”
Ridiculous, Esther thought. Even if they did tap the line, who would listen? The whole population would have to be employed listening to each other. The distraction caused her to miss something Lucy said. “Excuse me, what was that again?”
“I said come on down if you want to watch the news later. But if you’re all right, we should clear the line. Now the phone’s back on, I want to give everyone a call.”
“Okay,” said Esther, “thanks. Speak to you later.”
Only after she hung up did it occur to her to wonder what the Senior Center was running its television on. Someone must have brought a generator over.
Esther tried Jennifer’s number every hour or so. Usually she got a busy circuit signal. About three, it rang, but there was no answer. By then, clouds were starting to pile up. If it was going to storm, just as well to get the mail today… and see what there was to see. “Want to ride into town with me?” Esther asked.
“Sure,” said Peter.
Prabaht looked about wildly, then said, “I’ll come too.”
“Only if you wash your face and leave the side arms here.”
Prabaht fidgeted and mumbled, but complied.
The hood of Esther’s Valiant was still open. Peter checked the various fluids. The radiator and oil were both fine. Esther checked them regularly herself. “Check the brake fluid, would you,” Esther called. “The cap’s too tight for me.” Peter checked it. It was fine too.