The Howling III by Gary Brandner Read Free Book Online

I’m forty years old, ought to know better, but I still believe that if the world’s going to be made better, it won’t be the big corporations that do it. That’s why they call me the crazy hermit.”
    Jones shouldered his way through a dense growth of scrub pine, and suddenly they were in a clearing. There was a neatly tended patch of grass, dotted with wild flowers. A smooth dirt path led to a solid little cabin of rough logs. A wisp of blue smoke trailed from the chimney, and a homely touch was added by soft curtains at the window.
    “Be it ever so humble,” Jones said, “this is it. There was a girl with me a few years back. Woman, I should say. She’s responsible for the curtains. And the flowers. Used to be more of them, but I’m not so great at flower gardening. Veggies yes, flowers no. Her name was Beverly. Blond hair, and the longest legs you ever saw. Dedicated too. Peace Corps. Save the whales. All that. Beverly thought she wanted to try the natural life. I was glad to oblige.”
    “What happened to her?” Malcolm’s voice was weak and quavery. He had not used it in a long time.
    “She moved out.” Jones answered casually, as though they had been enjoying a two-way conversation all along. “Turned out the natural life wasn’t quite what she thought it would be. The rain got to her for one thing. She was a San Diego girl. Never in her life saw it rain more than two days running. Up here sometimes it’ll rain for a month, more or less. Doesn’t bother me, but Beverly about went crazy. Then there was the baby.”
    “You had a baby?”
    “We did. Little boy. Beverly wanted to name him Star Child, but I wouldn’t go for that. I’m not that spacey. Held out for John. Honest name. Solid. Biblical, if you’re into that. He’d be a couple of years younger than you now. You got a name?”
    “I…” Malcolm’s mind was suddenly empty, as though sucked clean by a giant vacuum. He was frightened. “I don’t know.”
    “Doesn’t matter. With only the two of us, there won’t be any confusion about who I’m talking to. Back in town they’ll want to know, but maybe you’ll remember by then.”
    Jones carried the boy across the clearing to the door of the cabin. He pushed it open with his foot. Inside there were rough-hewn, comfortable-looking chairs, a table rescued from some thrift shop, sanded down and painted apple green, and a pair of army-style cots with stretched canvas on wooden frames. There was a cast-iron sink with a hand-pump for water. Along one wall was a stone fireplace with a great iron kettle simmering over the coals of a log fire. Whatever was in the kettle smelled wonderful.
    “Beverly hadn’t considered that living natural was going to mean no disposable diapers for John. No television to keep him occupied. No babysitter. She had to go all the way into Pinyon for the obstetrician. One day she just took him and left. Can’t blame her. At least I did the kid one favour. I saved him from a life of being called Star Child.”
    Jones carried Malcolm into the cabin and kicked the door shut behind them. It was warm inside. The aroma from the simmering kettle wrapped around them.
    “Stew,” Jones said. “Turnips, zucchini, tomatoes, wild onion, plantain. Care to try some?”
    Malcolm bobbed his head, then winced in sudden pain.
    “First we better see what we can do about that ankle. I’ll clean it up for you now. By tomorrow morning this rain will stop and we’ll hike into Pinyon and get it fixed up properly.”
    Jones eased the boy down on to one of the cots. He brought over a basin of water and a soft cloth. Very gently he sponged the wounded ankle, keeping up a running chatter about nothing in particular.
    He held the boy’s leg in his strong, gentle hands and studied the torn flesh. “Looks like you’ve got a little infection going there,” he said. “I’m going to put some stuff on it now that will sting a little. I boil it down from pine bark and a few other things.