The Long Walk

“The whammy. Like telling a pitcher he’s got a no-hitter going.”

“Maybe I am,” McVries said. He put his hands out in front of him. They were shaking very slightly. McVries frowned at them in a distracted sort of concentration. It was a half-lunatic sort of gaze. “I hope Barkovitch buys out soon,” he said.

“Pete?”

“What?”

“If you had it to do all over again… if you knew you could get this far and still be walking… would you do it?”

McVries put his hands down and stared at Garraty. “Are you kidding? You must be.”

“No, I’m serious.”

“Ray, I don’t think I’d do it again if the Major put his pistol up against my nads. This is the next thing to suicide, except that a regular suicide is quicker.”

“True,” Olson said. “How true.” He smiled a hollow, concentration-camp smile that made Garraty’s belly crawl.

Ten minutes later they passed under a huge red-and-white banner that proclaimed: 100 MILES!! CONGRATULATIONS FROM THE JEFFERSON PLANTATION CHAMBER OF COMMERCE! CONGRATULATIONS TO THIS YEAR’s “CENTURY CLUB” LONG WALKERS!!

“I got a place where they can put their Century Club,” Collie Parker said. “It’s long and brown and the sun never shines there.”

Suddenly the spotty stands of second-growth pine and spruce that had bordered the road in scruffy patches were gone, hidden by the first real crowd they had seen. A tremendous cheer went up, and that was followed by another and another. It was like surf hammering on rocks. Flashbulbs popped and dazzled. State police held the deep ranks of people back, and bright orange nylon restraining ropes were strong along the soft shoulders. A policeman struggled with a screaming little boy. The boy had a dirty face and a snotty nose. He was waving a toy glider in one hand and an autograph book in the other.

“Jeez!” Baker yelled. “Jeez, look at ’em, just look at ’em all!”

Collie Parker was waving and smiling, and it was not until Garraty closed up with him a little that he could hear him calling in his flat Midwestern accent: “Glad to seeya, ya goddam bunch of fools!” A grin and a wave. “Howaya, Mother McCree, you goddam bag. Your face and my ass, what a match. Howaya, howaya?”

Garraty clapped his hands over his mouth and giggled hysterically. A man in the first rank waving a sloppily lettered sign with Scramm’s name on it had popped his fly. A row back a fat woman in a ridiculous yellow sunsuit was being ground between three college students who were drinking beer. Stone-ground fatty, Garraty thought, and laughed harder.

You’re going to have hysterics, oh my God, don’t let it get you, think about Gribble… and don’t… don’t let… don’t…

But it was happening. The laughter came roaring out of him until his stomach was knotted and cramped and he was walking bent-legged and somebody was hollering at him, screaming at him over the roar of the crowd. It was McVries. “Ray! Ray! What is it? You all right?”

“They’re funny!” He was nearly weeping with laughter now. “Pete, Pete, they’re so funny, it’s just… just… that they’re so funny!”

A hard-faced little girl in a dirty sundress sat on the ground, pouty-mouthed and frowning. She made a horrible face as they passed. Garraty nearly collapsed with laughter and drew a warning. It was strange-in spite of all the noise he could still hear the warnings clearly.

I could die, he thought. I could just die laughing, wouldn’t that be a scream?

Collie was still smiling gaily and waving and cursing spectators and newsmen roundly, and that seemed funniest of all. Garraty fell to his knees and was warned again. He continued to laugh in short, barking spurts, which were all his laboring lungs would allow.

“He’s gonna puke!” someone cried in an ecstasy of delight. “Watch 'im, Alice, he’s gonna puke!”

“Garraty! Garraty for God’s sake!” McVries was yelling. He got an arm around Garraty’s back and hooked a hand into his armpit. Somehow he yanked him to his feet and Garraty stumbled on.

“Oh God,” Garraty gasped. “Oh Jesus Christ they’re killing me. I… I can’t…” He broke into loose, trickling laughter once more. His knees buckled. McVries ripped him to his feet once more. Garraty’s collar tore. They were both warned. That’s my last warning, Garraty thought dimly. I’m on my way to see that fabled farm. Sorry, Jan, I…

“Come on, you turkey, I can’t lug you!” McVries hissed.

“I can’t do it,” Garraty gasped. “My wind’s gone, I-”

McVries slapped him twice quickly, forehand on the right cheek, backhand on the left. Then he walked away quickly, not looking back.

The laughter had gone out of him now but his gut was jelly, his lungs empty and seemingly unable to refill. He staggered drunkenly along, weaving, trying to find his wind. Black spots danced in front of his eyes, and a part of him understood how close to fainting he was. His one foot fetched against his other foot, he stumbled, almost fell, and somehow kept his balance.

If I fall, I die. I’ll never get up.