Alas, Babylon

Randy stepped over and stood between Bill and the cracked window, so as to look into his face. “You might as well stop feeling sorry for yourself,” he said. “You’re going to have to start over. Either that or die. You have to face it.”

Lib touched her father’s shoulder. “Come on, Dad.” Bill didn’t move, or reply.

Randy felt anger inside him. “You want to know what good you are? That means what good you are to somebody else, not to yourself, doesn’t it? If you’re no good to anybody else I guess you’d better take the long swim. You know something about machinery, don’t you?”

McGovern pushed himself in his chair. “I know as much about machine tools as any man in America.”

“I didn’t say machine tools. I said machinery. Batteries, gasoline engines, simple stuff like that.”

“I didn’t start at Central Tool as president, or board chairman. I started in the shop, working with my hands. Sure, I know about machinery.”

“That’s fine. You can help Malachai and Admiral Hazzard. We’ve taken the batteries out of my car, and the admiral’s car, and hooked them on to the Admiral’s shortwave set so we can find out what cooks around the world. Only it doesn’t work right something’s wrong with the circuit-and the batteries are fading and I don’t know how we can charge ‘em.”

“Very simple,” said Bill. “Power takeoff from the Model-A. It’ll work so long as you have gas.”

“Fine,” Randy said. “That’s your first job, Bill, helping Malachai.”

“Malachai? Isn’t he the brother of our cleaning woman, Missouri? Your yardman?”

“That’s him. First-class mechanic.”

Bill McGovern smiled. “So I’ll be mechanic, second class?” “That’s right.”

Bill rose. “All right. It’s a deal. I’ll dress, and then-” He stopped. “Oh, Lord, I forgot. Poor Lavinia. Randy, what am I going to do about her-” he hesitated as if the word were crude but he could find no other-”body?”

“We’re attending to that,” Randy said. “Dan Gunn has gone up to get Bubba Offenhaus. I hope Bubba will handle the burial. Meanwhile, I think you and Lib better start packing. We’ll have to make three or four trips, I guess. How much gas have you got in your car?”

Lib said, “A couple of gallons, I think.”

“That’ll be enough to make the move, and you won’t need the car after that. We can use the battery for Sam Hazzard’s shortwave set.”

While they packed, Randy prowled the house searching for useful items. In a kitchen cupboard he discovered an old, pitted iron pot of tremendous capacity, and, forgetting the presence of death in the house, whooped with delight.

Lib raced into the kitchen, demanding a reason for the shouting. He hefted the pot. “I’ll bet it’ll hold two gallons,” he said. “What a find!”

“It’s just an old pot Mother bought when we were in New England one summer. An antique. She thought it would look wonderful with a plant. It looked awful.”

“It’ll look beautiful hanging in the dining-room fireplace,” Randy said, “filled with stew.”

The old pot was the most useful object-indeed it was one of the few useful objects-he found in the McGovern house. Twenty minutes later Dan Gunn returned, alone and worried. “Bubba Offenhaus,” he said, “can’t help us. Bubba would like to bury himself. He’s got dysentery. Running at both ends. He and Kitty were certain it was radiation poisoning. Symptoms are pretty much alike, you know. Both of them were in panic. He’ll get over it in a few days, but that’s not helping us now.” Randy said, “So what do we do?”

Dan looked at Bill McGovern, fully dressed now but still unwashed and unshaven, for there was no water in the house except a jug, for drinking, that Randy had brought to them the day before. Dan said, “I think that’s up to you to decide, Bill.” “What is there to decide?” Bill asked.

“Whether to bury your wife here or in the cemetery. You don’t have a plot in Repose-in-Peace but I’m sure Bubba won’t mind. Anyway, there’s nothing he can do about it, and you can settle with him later.”

Bill McGovern turned to his daughter. “What do you say, Elizabeth?”

“Well, of course I think Mother deserves a proper funeral in a cemetery. It seems like the least we can do for her. And yet “ She turned to Randy. “You don’t agree, do you, Randy?”

Randy was glad that she asked. Intervening in this private and personal matter was brutal but necessary. “No, I don’t agree. It’s six miles to the cemetery. We’d have to make the trip in two cars because of the-because of Lavinia. That’s twenty-four miles’ worth of gasoline, round trip, and we can’t afford it. We will have to bury Lavinia here, on the grounds.”

“But how-” Lib began.

“Where do you keep the shovels, Bill?” “There’s a tool shed back of the garage.”

While handing a shovel to Dan, and selecting one for himself, Randy examined the other tools. There was a new ax. It would be very useful. There were pitchforks, edgers, a scythe, a wheelbarrow. He would bring Malachai over before dark and they would divvy up the McGovern tools. In everything he did, now, he found he looked into the needs of the future.