After Good Prince Billy left them outside the church to talk with a group of people inside, Eric planned on going to the car, to sit inside the silence and breathe easier. But he was surprised by Jim, the man who had confronted him with his rifle earlier. Eric took a step back, expecting anger.
“Peace hombre,” Jim laughed. “I brought this for you and your friends.” He handed them a platter of juicy venison. Eric took it thankfully.
“Thank you,” he said. Even the smell of the meat was making him melt inside. He thought he might cry.
“No problemo,” said Jim. “If the Good Prince thinks you’re okay, you’re okay in my book.”
Forgetting their fear, the three sat outside the church of Good Prince Billy and ate roasted venison until their faces glistened with fat.
What Eric remembered about that night with the Mustangs:
—There was an old man whittling on a park bench.
—A man and woman spent the evening necking behind a tree.
—At the side of the road, there were two posted guards. Each had on a protective vest. Each had an assault rifle. Each had somber eyes.
—A small band playing fiddle, guitar, banjo, and flute sang the song “Froggie Went a-Courting,” and “The Mule.” Everyone cheered this part of the song most:
—Two young children, no older than ten, played a game of hide and seek. One ended up crying because something “wasn’t fair.”
—Two teenage boys sat on the back of a truck watching the party.
—A circle of men stood around the fire, talking in turns, throwing wood on the fire.
—A woman introduced herself to Lucia as Amy. She said they were all welcome. She said Lucia had beautiful hair and Lucia said thank you.
—A woman came around with bowls of corn, rice, and beans mixed together. When she gave them out, she smiled at them.
—An argument broke out over the Minutemen, but Eric couldn’t hear what was said.
—Late in the night, four people began a game of horseshoes. A woman named Gretchen won.
—A truck drove up and a man came out, looking serious. Good Prince Billy went to speak to him. They talked alone in the shadows.
—There were a group of little girls there, playing with beautiful dolls. Eric trembled just to hear them. “Of course I love you,” said one little girl to another. “This is how it is going to be. I’m going to kiss you and then you’ll stay here, in my house. Okay?” The other agreed and then the two dolls kissed, a touching of plastic lips under a storm of blonde curls.
Around midnight, Good Prince Billy led them to their rooms. To make them more comfortable, they would share a smaller room with only a few other people, including Jim.
“I know you’ve just come here,” she said to them as they stood awkwardly before her, “but I have a feeling about you kids. I won’t tell you what to do, we ain’t about that around here, but I will say you’re all welcome to stay here as long as you like. We need all the help we can get.” Billy smiled and her narrow, bright eyes twinkled.
“Thank you,” said Lucia. Sergio and Eric shook hands with the Good Prince.
When she left them, the group stood in a tight circle, looking at each other. They had been so long only in each other’s company, they never noticed how close they had become. They looked at each other shyly, uncertain how to express the realization of each other. Finally Sergio patted him on the shoulder and Lucia squeezed his hand, and they left him for a bunk in the corner.
Alone in the bottom of his bunk, Eric sank into the incredibly soft bed. After weeks of sleeping on the ground, the bed seemed to be made of clouds and feathers. Rarely had he felt so comfortable or so secure. He trusted these people, much more than he had ever trusted the Slow Society. There was something genuine about them. They had no grand ideas. They only wanted to live.
Maybe this was where they should stay. He had thought this once back at the Slow Society, but this time it felt more right. What was the island but a dream of security and companionship? Two things he could have here. He would not be in charge. There would be no responsibility. He had failed Birdie miserably, had failed all of them. So many of the people he had met were dead. He was not the person to protect them. Let that responsibility fall on people like Good Prince Billy. She was stronger than he was. The more he thought of it, the more he thought it was the right decision.
I’m sorry, Birdie, he thought to himself in the slight darkness inside the church. I wish I had been stronger for you, but I wasn’t. I’m sorry. Eric closed his eyes and sleep clutched him like a jealous lover.
Eric woke abruptly when Jim climbed into the bunk above him. He let out an instinctive cry, small and scared, before he could restrain himself.
“Sorry,” Jim said. “I’m being as quiet as I can, amigo.”
Feeling his heartbeat slow, Eric watched Jim’s legs swing into the bed above him. Jim’s head came next, narrow, pock-marked and red. He looked like a man weathered by the sun and hard labor. Men like him had always scared Eric, made him feel soft, young, and vulnerable. Jim studied him for a few moments, as if trying to guess his weight.
“So you guys going to be Mustangs or what?” he asked. His head disappeared, but he didn’t stop talking. His voice was the loudest whisper Eric had ever heard. “I tell you what,” he continued. “You can feel safe with us. The Mustangs are some tough hombres, that’s the truth of it. We don’t allow no one to come in and tell us what to do. Not only that, but we got the Good Prince and she keeps us straight. You can take that to the bank and cash it.”
There aren’t banks anymore, Eric thought, but said nothing. “Who is she?”
“Prince Billy?” Jim’s head reappeared. “She’s our own personal hero. She might look old and all that, but she’s as tough as nails. She proved that at Rip Van Winkle.”
“Rip Van Winkle?” Eric encouraged when Jim stopped.
“That’s where we faced down with the Minutemen,” he explained. “That’ll teach them dirty sons of bitches to come in here with their damn pamphlets and tell us what we ought to do. No one rules over us. We ain’t interested in starting up a new country. President Jacobs, my ass. Didn’t no one vote for that son of a bitch.”
Eric was busy thinking about this when Jim continued.
“You guys are coming from the west, ain’t you? Probably haven’t heard of them yet, have you? The Minutemen are from Boston,” he said. His voice had lost even the pretense of a whisper. “They got a President, calls himself Jacobs. Says they’re all that’s left of the US government and that everyone ought to join with the Minutemen.” He scoffed angrily, like a snorting horse. “Load of bullshit. Buuuullllshiiit,” he pronounced slowly. “Ain’t nothing left of the US of A. Even if there was, I wouldn’t want no part of it. If you ask me, it was them government sons of bitches who were to blame for the Vaca B in the first place. We didn’t have no business in Brazil, now did we? We ought to look after us and our own. No,” he said soundly. “Them days are over, amigo. From now on, it’s us. We don’t need no one else.”