Through Darkest America-Extended Version (6 page)

Nobody believed that, though, and a day didn't pass during planting season when one neighbor didn't tell another that he shouldn't be pulling his own plow—that there'd be horses to do that anytime now.

As soon as he finished helping Papa put up their own shelter, Howie ran across the road to see the pictures.
Bluevale
was a long time back and he hadn't forgotten it was the one thing they'd missed at the fair. Besides, it was a good time to stay away from everyone. His mother had been crying again. It made him feel awful to see that—though he was old enough now to understand why. Choosing was a good thing and helped everybody, but like Papa said, mothers had different kinds of feelings than other people. So did fathers, Howie decided. They didn't show it as much, but he'd caught a certain look in Papa's eyes.

There were already some people in the tent, but not so many you couldn't see what you wanted to—and Howie wanted to see everything. There were drawings and colored posters and even photographs—pictures where everything looked as real as if you were there.

Silver Island, he decided, must be an awful lot like Heaven, Nobody knew what Heaven looked like, of course, unless they'd died—but he couldn't see how God could come up with anything much better. There were big white houses under broad trees. Every window had glass and curtains and the houses came right down to bright blue water. A smooth, sandy beach circled the island and waves rolled in from the sea and left sparkling foam on the shore. Sails colored green, yellow, and cherry red dotted the bay.

It was all truly a wonder. And the biggest wonder of all was that it never got cold on Silver Island. It was always kind of like spring or summer, only better. No snow or ice, and no wood to chop. You didn't freeze your hands and toes until you couldn't even tell if they were there. Now
that
was something.

The people, of course, were what everyone really came to see. There were pictures of people from all over the country—people from close by and as far away as California. And it was hard to imagine they'd ever lived anywhere but Silver Island. They didn't look like people you knew. Everyone was smiling. No one was tired or worried or anything. Well, why should they be? Howie asked himself. That's what Silver Island was for. If you went there, you didn't
have
to worry. You had a good life and plenty to eat and you never got cold. He reckoned he'd smile a lot, too.

One picture held Howie's attention a long time. It showed a group of boys and girls on a beach. They were tossing a ball back and forth and laughing. Behind them was a sailboat on a blue-green sea.

As far as Howie was concerned, though, there was no one else in the picture but the girl. She lazed on the beach, away from the others, her eyes closed against the sun. She didn't have hardly any clothes on at all and her skin was tanned the color of raw honey. You could see almost all of her breasts and her legs were long and shiny. He didn't know anyone looked like that—not anywhere!

Howie felt his heart beating against his shirt. Something else was happening, too, and he decided he'd better get out of the tent and back across the road. He looked over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching, but nobody was.

"Will the clown be scary, Mama?"
Carolee
wanted to know.

Howie's mother started to answer, but Papa grinned and squeezed her shoulder. "Honey, 'course he won't be scary. Clowns are supposed to be
funny
, now aren't they? Isn't that right,
Ev
?"

"Yes, of course they are. Papa's right, darling." She gave
Carolee
a quick smile, then turned her around again and ran the long brush through her hair.

"
Ow
!"
Carolee
pulled away. Her mother reached out and settled her back.

"You got to look nice, honey."

"Am I
gonna
have
to go, Mama?"

"You might not,
Carolee
. We don't
know
that at all. They don't choose everyone. Just some."

"If I go, will you and Papa come see me?"

"
Carolee
." Her mother's lips pressed together in a narrow white line. Howie saw her eyes begin to glisten and his stomach knotted up inside.

"
Carolee
," she said gently, "no one even
knows
if you're
goin
' anywhere. Now do they?" She forced a little laugh. "Just hush- up and let me do your hair, hon."

"Will Howie go with me?"
Carolee
let out a deep sigh. "I never get to go anywhere without Howie. I'm closer to thirteen than I am twelve and that's old enough to do stuff by yourself.
Mayellen
got to go into
Callister
with the Martins and they aren't even
kin
!"

"Be still,
Carolee
."

"But Mama . ."

Howie saw something move in his father's face. Papa's big frame seemed to get suddenly smaller and, in a minute, he turned and tramped quickly out of the tent. Howie watched, curiously, and started to follow. His mother caught his eye and she shook her head ever so slightly. Howie sat down and busied himself with his studies, though he couldn't keep his mind on any of the words.

The clown was funny.

He came hobbling drunkenly into the big tent, taking quick little steps, arms tight against his sides. Then, suddenly, he tripped over his feet and went sprawling. All the children laughed and most of the grownups.

Parents stood in a big circle, their children cross-legged before them. They'd already heard the speech from the chubby little government man out of Jefferson. He was clearly a man who'd never done anything but town work and they'd all heard the speech before. It was the same every year. How all the parents should be proud to have such fine children—he was certain there wasn't a better looking group of youngsters anywhere. That was no surprise, he said, because there wasn't a heartier looking bunch of men—or prettier women—anywhere in the country.

He told them again what they all knew: That children chosen to go to Silver Island were the luckiest children in the world and that their parents should be more than proud. Silver Island was the beginning of a new America and someday the whole country would be just like that. Because that's what Silver Island was for—to provide citizens to
make
that new America, to give them advantages they couldn't hope to get anywhere else.

It was, he realized, always sad to see a child leave home. He explained, however, that children chosen here and all over the country wouldn't really be gone at all. They'd be the representatives of their parents in a new world of tomorrow. It was a shame that the whole country—children and grownups alike—couldn't enjoy all the advantages of Silver Island right now. But the government believed it had the duty and obligation to do what it could—if not for the many, then for the few. And before long, those few would swell to many again.

He told a little about how we'd been a long time paying for the sins of generations past, who'd near sent the world up in flames. That it was a long road back and we were getting there. He reminded them that there were a lot of countries that were worse off than we were—or weren't even around anymore, for that matter.

There was more. And finally he stopped and the clown in the baggy patchwork suit and lopsided hat came stumbling into the tent. One of the troopers brought out his fiddle so the clown could dance and soon he was twirling about the circle smiling and making faces.

There were children of all sizes in the tent, but each was between nine and fifteen—the limits for being eligible to go to Silver Island. It was the first year Howie hadn't had to sit in the circle and he had mixed feelings about that. It gave him a sense of pride to stand with the grownups. On the other hand, he'd never have a chance, now, to see what Silver Island was like. He thought of the warm sun, the blue water, and the girl on the beach with next to nothing on. There were probably a lot of girls around just as pretty though he hadn't seen any. And they sure weren't dressed like that . . ..

The fiddler played, the clown danced about and laughed, and the grownups and children alike followed him with their eyes. Sometimes he'd pause for a moment before one child or another, then he'd waddle off somewhere else.

The fiddler began to play faster and faster, stomping his foot on the hard ground. The clown whirled and leaped about like he'd never stop. You could see the sweat roll off his painted face in different colors. His hat flew off his head and his big mouth opened to gulp air. Finally, he gave an extra high leap, rolled himself in a tight little ball, and flipped over neatly in midair. When his feet hit the ground, a handful of long, silver ribbons was clutched in his hand.

There were a few gasps from the crowd, for they knew what was coming now. Howie saw his mother's hand squeeze Papa's arm until there was nothing but white in her fingers.

The fiddler began a slower, prettier tune. The clown pranced daintily about the circle again, stopping first before one child, and then another. And each time he stopped, he pinned one of the long silver ribbons to the child he'd chosen. He danced until all the ribbons were gone, threw a big kiss to children and grownups alike, and bowed his way out of the tent.

Out of some forty children present, eighteen had been chosen. More than any from Corners in a single year, someone said.
Carolee
was the fourth child to be picked.

Chapter Seven

S
pring came early, after a winter that was more like a cold, bleak autumn than anything else. An old hand who worked for Howie's father said Nature had a way of evening things out and was kind of making up for the bitter season of the year before, which was like two or three winters all bunched together.

For Howie, it meant you had to get outdoors and work when you ordinarily wouldn't. Clear days when there was only a little snow in the air were extra blessings as far as Papa was concerned—days when you could get a head start on spring.

In a way, Howie didn't mind. The things that used to be fun in winter didn't matter now. All his life, cold weather had meant extra good smells in the kitchen, hot fruit pies on special days—and at night, huddling about the big fireplace while the chill wind howled outside. There'd be cider, then, spiced with herbs, and the whole family laughing and telling stories about one thing or another.

Only it wasn't the same anymore. Since
Carolee
had been Chosen, the laughter had gone out of his mother. Her eyes didn't smile—they seemed to be looking at something far away; and the special things she used to do weren't so important.

Howie missed
Carolee
, too. She didn't seem so much like a wart, now, and he mostly remembered good things. He thought about her often, having fun on Silver Island, and wondered if she knew the girl who had lain on the beach near naked. Probably she did. There were a lot of people there, but you'd get around to meeting everyone after a while.

The girl had been on his mind a lot since he'd seen her picture at Corners. At night, with the silence outside, he saw her just as she'd been, only she didn't have anything at all on now. Sometimes he imagined touching her all over, and rubbing up against her—doing things that made him sweat and kick the covers aside, even with the chill outside. Then he'd have to stop the pain that filled his loins, though he didn't like to do that often. Stock did it all the time, he knew—bucks and mares alike—but people weren't supposed to. It didn't much matter what animals did; they didn't have a lot in their heads to begin with. But it wasn't supposed to be good for people.

It was funny, he thought. How you saw things different. He could look at the girl on the beach and think about pulling off the little bit of clothes she had and doing all kinds of things to her. Once, though, it occurred to him that
Carolee
probably went swimming at that very same place, now. Was
she
wearing clothes like that? The idea horrified him. He wondered if the girl on the beach had a brother. Maybe
he'd
look at
Carolee
the same way. Would that be wrong, if he did? Did that make him, Howie, wrong? It was enough to make a person's head ache—figuring out what was good and what wasn't.

With the early thaw, news of the war came sooner than most people had expected. The mild winter had been good and bad for both sides, they said. It had let the army move against the rebels sooner, but it had also given Lathan a chance to broaden his holdings over good ground, since the earth wasn't churned to mud this spring like it usually was. There was one thing certain, people said, there'd been plenty of chances for fighting and there were a lot of dead and wounded in both armies.

One day a traveler from
Bluevale
stopped for supper and told Papa there was trouble in town with the army, and likely to be more. After the terrible battles out west, many troopers had been sent back to rest up and lick their wounds.

"They're hungry and most of '
em
hurt," the man said. "They got no will to fight Lathan anymore, but there's plenty of mean in them still."

And mean, he told them, meant brawling and burning, and a rape or two thrown in. It wasn't so bad in the countryside, yet—but it would be, soon as the towns got too tough on the troopers.

There was other news, too, that set Papa's jaw and turned his face beet red.