“But that was a vision I had. In actuality, he shook his head hard, his lip curled into a bitter look.
“ ‘I’d better go,’ he said.
“Said I, ‘I think you better.’ As I got to my feet he walked to the passenger door, and got his backpack out. He pulled his poncho off to get the pack on his back.
“ ‘Back to home for you, eh Thomas?’ he said. There was contempt in his voice, and suddenly I was angry.
“ ‘And you can hit the road again,’ I said. ‘And I’m glad to see you go. You had me feeling like my whole life was a mistake, like you did it right and I did it wrong. But I’m not doing it wrong! I’m living with people the way a human being should, and you’re just taking the escape, wandering the road. You’ll burn out quick enough.’
“He glared at me, and said, ‘You’ve got me wrong, brother. I’m trying to live my life the best I know how. And I’m not going to burn out, ever.’ He put his poncho back on. ‘You take the name,’ he said. ‘I don’t know if we live in the same world or not, but someone might notice. So you keep the name. I have the feeling you’re the real Tom Barnard, anyway.’
“So we had traded curses.
“He looked at me one last time. ‘Good luck,’ he said. Then he walked away from the road, up the ridge. Through the mist, under that poncho, he looked inhuman. But I knew who he was. And as I watched him fade into the dark and the shrubs my spirit sank, and I was filled with despair. That was my own self disappearing there; I was watching my own true self walk away in the rain. No one should have to watch that.
“When I couldn’t see him anymore I drove off in a panic. Creaks in the car made me jump into the steering wheel, and I was too scared to look back and see what it was. I drove faster and faster, and prayed the distributor would stay dry. The valleys of east Arizona rolled on and on, and for the first time, I think, I realized how gigantic the country really was. I couldn’t stop thinking of what had happened. Things we had said seemed to ring aloud in the air. I wished that we had had more time—that we had parted friends—that we had allowed the joining to take place! Why were we so afraid of wholeness? But I was afraid; the fear of that union washed over me, and I drove ever faster, as if he might be running down the highway after me, wet and exhausted, miles behind.”
Tom coughed a few times, and stared into the fire, remembering it. We watched him open mouthed.
“Did you ever see him again?” Rebel asked anxiously. That broke the spell and most of us laughed, including Tom. But then he frowned at her and nodded.
“Yes, I did see him again. And more than that.”
We settled back; the older folks, who had heard this story before, I guessed, looked surprised.
“It was several years later when I next saw him; you’ll know what year I mean. I was still a lawyer, older and slouchier and tubbier than ever. That was life in the old time—the years in the boxes took it out of you fast.” At that point Tom looked at me, as if to make sure I was listening. “It was a stupid life really, and that’s why I can’t see it when people talk about fighting to get back to that. People back then struggled at jobs in boxes so they could rent boxes and visit other boxes, and they spent their whole lives running in boxes like rats. I was doing it myself, and it made no sense.
“Part of me knew that it made no sense, and I fought back in a weak sort of way. At this time I was out west doing that again, hiking a little. I decided to hike to the top of Mount Whitney, the tallest mountain in the United States. Weak as I was it was a killer task just to get up that ten mile trail, but after a couple days’ hard work I made it. Mount Whitney. Right before sunset, this was—again—so that I was the only person on the peak, which was rare.
“So I was walking around the top, which was broad, nearly an acre. The trail goes up the west side, which is nice and gradual. But the eastern face is almost sheer, and looking down it into the shadows made me feel funny. Then I noticed a climber. He was coming up that sheer face alone, up one of the cracks in the face. Old John Muir had climbed the face alone like that, but he was crazy for risks, and few climbers since had exposed themselves to such danger. It made me dizzy to look at this guy’s exposure, but I watched all the same, naturally. As he got higher he kept looking up, and at one point he saw me and waved. And I felt funny. The closer he got the more familiar he looked. And then I recognized him. It was my double, in climbing gear and full beard, looking as strong an animal as you could ask for. And there on that granite face!
“Well, I thought about hightailing it down the trail, but at one point when he looked up at me, I saw that he recognized me too, and I realized we would have to say hello. Or something. So I waited.
“It seemed to go on forever, the last part of that climb, and him in mortal danger the whole time. But when he crawled over the top, the sun was still over that distant western horizon, out over the Pacific way out there in the haze. He stood up, and walked toward me. A few feet away he stopped and we stared at each other wordlessly, in an amber glow of light like you only get in the Sierras at dusk. There didn’t seem anything to say, and it was like we were frozen.
“And then it happened.” Here Tom’s voice took on a hoarse, harsh quality, and he leaned forward in his lame chair, stopping its rocking, and stared into the fire refusing to look at any of us. He hacked three or four coughs and spoke rapidly: “The sun was about half an orange ball lying out on the horizon, and—and one bloomed beside it, and then a whole bunch of others, up and down the California coast. Fifty suns all strung out and glowing for sunset. The mushroom balls as tall as us, and then taller. Little haloes of smoke around each column. It was the day, folks. It was the end.
“I saw what it was, and then I knew what it was; I turned to look at my double, and saw he was crying. He moved to my side and we held hands. So simple. We melted together as easy as that—as easy as agreeing to. When we were done, I was up there all alone. I remembered both of my pasts, and felt my brother’s strength. The mushroom clouds blew toward me, coming on a cold wind. Oh I felt all alone, believe me, shivering and watching that horrible sight—but I felt, well… healed somehow, and… Oh, I don’t know. I don’t know. I got down off of there somehow.”
He leaned back and almost rocked too far in his chair. We all took a deep breath.
Tom stood and prodded the fire with a stick. “You see, you couldn’t live a whole life in the old time,” he said, his voice relaxed again, even peevish. “It’s only now that we’re out by a fire, in the world—”
“No morals if you please,” Rafael said. “You’ve told us enough of those lately, thank you.” John Nicolin nodded at that.
The old man blinked. “Well, okay. Stories shouldn’t have morals anyway. Let’s get some more wood on that fire! This story’s over, and I need something to drink.”
With a cough he went to get the drink himself, and released us. Some stood and threw wood on the fire, others asked Mrs. N. if there was more butter—all a bit subdued, but satisfied. “How the old man talks,” Steve said. Then he took my arm and indicated Melissa, over on the other side of the fire. I shrugged him off, but after a bit I walked around the fire and joined her. She put her arm around me. Feeling that small hand over my hip made the rum in me jump. We wandered out in the junk of the yard, and kissed hungrily. I was always surprised at how easy it was with Melissa. “Welcome home,” she said. “You still haven’t told me about your trip—I’ve heard it all second hand! Will you come over to my house later and tell me about it? Daddy will be there of course, but maybe he’ll go to bed.”