The Nuclear Catastrophe (a fiction novel of survival) (21 page)

Paula shuddered and nudged over against Frank. She touched his leg with the sole of her foot. The bed was warm and comfortable, and for once their argument had ended almost as quickly as it had begun.
“
I  wonder if Flo and Harry really did go back to San Mirado.
”

Frank lay quietly, unanswering.

Paula was engaged with her own thoughts.
“
I hate to think of them doing that....going back.
”
A moment passed.
“
Frank, will we ever return to San Mirado?
”
She paused.
“
If we do, I
’
d like us to get one of those new, Spanish-type houses—out in the de Lorenzo subdivision. A five bedroom, three bath place. You know, with  the Spanish brick facade,
”
she added.
 

Frank heaved a deep sigh. Over the night Jerry
’
s vomiting had become so bad that, with fear and apprehension, he
’
d taken the boy to the hospital, bypassing the Jorgensens
’
family physician. He had no sooner stepped inside the house then Paula was before him.

“
What did the doctor say?
”

Frank removed his jacket.
“
Jerry hasn
’
t got any radiation sickness,
”
he said, hanging the jacket up.

Paula was obviously worried about something.
“
Was he sure? Can he be sure?
”
she asked.

“
He
’
s the doctor, Paula. He said there
’
s nothing to worry about...that Jerry just has a gastric upset.
”

“
Then why did he want to keep him in the hospital?
”

Frank, annoyance showing, said,
“
Look, he wants to keep the kid a day or two and build him up. That
’
s all. My God, if you were so concerned why didn
’
t you go with me to take him in?
”
He started around her toward their bedroom.

“
What
’
s Jerry
’
s room number?
”
she snapped.
“
I
’
m going to see him.
”

“
Oh, Paula, for Pete
’
s sake, there
’
s no point in you going over there now. Wait awhile and we
’
ll both go.
”

Paula held out her hand.
“
The keys, Frank.
”

He dropped them in her palm.

She rushed out of the house, slamming the door after her.

Her departure left him with a feeling of emptiness, helplessness. Suddenly it seemed they were growing farther and farther apart. She
’
d always been high spirited and willful, but now that she had insisted on her parents
’
home for their refuge she seemed more than ever determined to have her way, to make her own decisions without regard to him or his opinions. Maybe it could be expected. After all, he had married out of his element, as the phrase went. Frank stared at the spot where she
’
d stood, then shrugged and started to turn away when he noticed the old man watching him.

Mr. Jorgensen peered over the top of his glasses. He was a frail looking old man, reed-thin and pale in his Scandinavian color. But frail looking, only. Frank knew his father-in-law to be as tough as a steel rod, and just as unbending.

“
Where
’
s she going?
”
The question was gritty, almost contemptuous.

“
To see Jerry,
”
Frank answered, heading again toward the bedroom.

“
Then why did she call Dr. Hellman?
”
asked the old man.

Frank paused.
“
Hellman?
”

“
Our doctor. She called him before you came in.
”

Clearly puzzled for a moment, then relieved, Frank replied,
“
I guess she wants another opinion about Jerry.
”
Sure, Paula was a worrier. Like a dog she
’
d nag and nag at something until she was satisfied she
’
d got the truth of the matter. She was worried that the boy had radiation sickness.

Mr. Jorgensen seemed disbelieving.
“
She made an appointment, Frank...for herself, not Jerry.
”

Sensing the cold eyes of the old man on him, Frank continued into the bedroom.
“
Why she
’
s seeing Dr. Hellman is her business, I guess. If she wants you to know she
’
ll tell you.
”
And maybe she
’
ll also tell her husband, Frank added to himself.

He locked himself in the room and lay down on the bed. The woman was exasperating....exactly like her father. And she actually expected him to butter up to the old fool. How could he? How in the hell could he get close to someone when the other drew an invisible barrier between them, then nailed it shut with a bunch of smart-assed cracks about a man not having any balls. Ah, the old bastard. He wasn
’
t worth it. If it weren
’
t for Paula they wouldn
’
t be here....if the old man hadn
’
t been Paula
’
s father Frank would have mashed his face in, wedding reception or not.

Chapter Nine

     Cecil Yeager opened his eyes and briefly inspected his surroundings. His presence in the unfamiliar, dingy room momentarily surprised him. Then he remembered. He had crossed the border during the night. No difficulty there. Responding to his immense fatigue, he
’
d checked into this hotel after stuffing himself on chili and frijoles. That had been a mistake. He had never digested Mexican food well, and the fare served in most Tijuana restaurants was heavily spiced. He hadn
’
t been selective, but had eaten at the first place offering food. This morning he was sorry because the green pepper taste was still welling up from his gut. He
’
d probably feel better if he could throw it, he thought.

Dressing with haste, he collected his belongings and walked down the rickety stairs to the lobby.

The Mexican behind the desk looked up from his racing form at the American in the crumpled suit.
“
Como esta, Senor?
”
he asked.

“
Fine,
”
Cecil replied shortly to the clerk. He hoped the man would understand English.
“
Say, I want to drive down the coast but I need to buy some insurance—you know, for my car. Can you recommend a place?
”

His United States automobile insurance policy covered a visitation of no longer than three days, and carried a mileage limit into the interior. Most American policies were written like this, thus the insurance agents made a better than ample living from the foreign turistas who came down to enjoy the climate, the beaches, and the cut-rates on booze.

“
Oh sure, Mister. At the border you will find many insurance offices.
”

Cecil was aware of the disreputable-looking little shanty offices inside the border gates, but he had no wish to return to them.
“
I was hoping to find an insurance agent here in town,
”
he said.

Shrugging, the clerk replied,
“
I do not know of such, though maybe you find one. Most Americans stop by the offices at the border, Mister.
”

Removing his wallet, Cecil paid his bill and thanked the clerk. Perhaps the insurance scheme was an unnecessary risk. It had occurred to him suddenly, and it seemed a good idea at the time. But he was anxious to get deeper into Mexico. Maybe he should scrap the plan and just proceed southward.

In a moment of indecisiveness, he stood on the cracked sidewalk and inhaled the morning air. The light breeze carried an aroma of putrefying garbage from the alley and sent a new wave of nausea racing through his stomach. Unable to decide, by weighing the risk against what he might gain if he succeeded, he finally made up his mind to take the chance, and drove back to the border.

Cecil stopped in front of one of the more respectable buildings on the Mexican side of the gate. It contained not only an insurance office, but a marriage parlor, and next to it, a quick divorce office. The fourth suite was occupied by a bail bondsman.

Stepping nervously into the grubby clapboard building, Cecil was warmly greeted by a suave, meticulously attired salesman.
“
Yes, sir?
”
asked the olive-complexioned man as he dragged a chair over for Cecil.
“
You wish some additional insurance while you visit with us?
”

Cecil wavered a moment, then taking a deep breath he rapidly explained his needs.

The agent pulled out a pad of forms and began filling in his signature at the bottom. When he completed his name and the date, he said,
“
We will require some information from you, please. Your name?
”

“
Cecil M. Yeager.
”
Cecil spelled it for him.

“
And where do you live, Senor?
”
asked the agent politely.

Cecil hesitated. Should he give his correct address? But then, the agent was sure to ask for his driver
’
s license.
“
It
’
s, uh, 1214 Adams Street, San Mirado.
”

The agent paused over the paper.
“
Senor, the border closed at midnight to all Americans. Until the catastrophe in Los Angeles is over, no one will be allowed to enter Mexico—including our own people who were there yesterday. It is sad, yes, but this is a rule of our Presidente.
”

Getting the drift of the agent
’
s comments, Cecil immediately objected.
“
But this doesn
’
t concern me. I have been in Mexico for some time now. I know nothing of what happened there.
”

Seemingly reluctant to believe him, the agent drummed his pen against the desk top.
“
You were not in Los Angeles yesterday?
”
he asked.

“
No, I was here in Tijuana,
”
Cecil answered flatly.

The day was becoming warm. Cecil wiped the perspiration from his forehead and gulped down a ball of saliva. His mouth was cottony inside.
“
I was right here in town,
”
he repeated to the agent.

Smiling benignly, the man quickly replied,
“
In that case there is no reason to deny you insurance. Now, we must have the car
’
s make and model, Mister Yeager, and then we will be finished.
”

Cecil told him the details.

“
One other thing, Senor. I am obliged to obtain proof of where you stayed here. It is a small detail that we have been asked to verify since the closing of the border.
”

Thinking back to the sleepy clerk at the hotel, Cecil decided that a phone call would promptly reveal that he had checked in late in the night and actually spent no more than six hours there. Fumbling with the inner pocket of his jacket, he let his face assume an expression of concern.
“
You know, I just remembered that I didn
’
t pick up my wallet. I must have left it at the hotel,
”
he said in a worried voice.

“
I will be happy to telephone to the hotel for you, Senor,
”
offered the other.
“
I must call there about you, regardless.
”

“
No, no. I....I will go for it,
”
said Cecil, getting to his feet.

“
Let us hope it is there, Mister Yeager. To be in Mexico without identification is not good,
”
said the agent.