The Waste Lands dt-3 Read online

  13

  AT QUARTER OF TWO that afternoon he walked slowly up the steps of the subway station and stood on the corner of Castle and Brooklyn Avenues, looking at the sandstone towers of Co-Op City. He waited for that feeling of sureness and direction-that feeling that was like being able to remember forward in time-to overtake him. It didn’t come. Nothing came. He was just a kid standing on a hot Brooklyn streetcorner with his short shadow lying at his feet like a tired pet.

  Well, I’m here.., now what do I do?

  Jake discovered he didn’t have the slightest idea.

  14

  ROLAND’s SMALL BAND OF travellers reached the crest of the long, gentle hill they had been climbing and stood looking southeast. For a long time none of them spoke. Susannah opened her mouth twice, then closed it again. For the first time in her life as a woman, she was completely speechless.

  Before them, an almost endless plain dozed in the long golden light of a summer’s afternoon. The grass was lush, emerald green, and very high. Groves of trees with long, slender trunks and wide, spreading tops dotted the plain. Susannah had once seen similar trees, she thought, in a travelogue film about Australia.

  The road they had been following swooped down the far side of the hill and then ran straight as a string into the southeast, a bright white lane cutting through the grass. To the west, some miles off, she could see a herd of large animals grazing peacefully. They looked like buffalo. To the east, the last of the forest made a curved peninsula into the grassland. This incursion was a dark, tangled shape that looked like a forearm with a cocked fist at the end.

  That was the direction, she realized, in which all the creeks and streams they had encountered had been flowing. They were tributaries of the vast river that emerged from that jutting arm of forest and flowed, placid and dreaming under the summer sun, toward the eastern edge of the world. It was wide, that river-perhaps two miles from bank to bank.

  And she could see the city.

  It lay dead ahead, a misty collection of spires and towers rising above the far edge of the horizon. Those airy ramparts might have been a hundred miles away, or two hundred, or four hundred. The air of this world seemed to be totally clear, and that made judging distances a fool’s game. All she knew for sure was that the sight of those dim towers filled her with silent wonder… and a drop, aching homesickness for New York. She thought, I believe I’d do most anything just to see the Manhattan skyline from the Triborough Bridge again.

  Then she had to smile, because that wasn’t the truth. The truth was that she wouldn’t trade Roland’s world for anything. Its silent mystery and empty spaces were intoxicating. And her lover was here. In New York-the New York of her own time, at least-they would have been objects of scorn and anger, the butt of every idiot’s crude, cruel jokes: a black woman of twenty-six and her whitebread lover who was three years younger and who had a tendency to talk like dis and dat when he got excited. Her whitebread lover who had been carrying a heavy monkey on his back only eight months before. Here, there was no one to jeer or laugh. Here, no one was pointing a finger. Here, there were only Roland, Eddie, and herself, the world’s last three gunslingers.

  She took Eddie’s hand and felt it close over hers, warm and reassuring.

  Roland pointed. “That must be the Send River,” he said in a low voice. “I never thought to see it in my life… wasn’t even sure it was real, like the Guardians.”

  “It’s so lovely,” Susannah murmured. She was unable to take her eyes from the vast landscape before her, dreaming richly in the cradle of summer. She found her eyes tracing the shadows of the trees, which trailed across the plain for what seemed miles as the sun sank toward the horizon. “It’s the way our Great Plains must have looked before they were settled-even before the Indians came.” She raised her free hand and pointed toward the place where the Great Road narrowed to a point. “There’s your city,” she said. “Isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “It looks okay,” Eddie said. “Is that possible, Roland? Could it still be pretty much intact. Did the old-timers build that well?”

  “Anything is possible in these times,” Roland said, but he sounded doubtful. “You shouldn’t get your hopes up, though, Eddie.”

  “Huh? No.” But Eddie’s hopes were up. That dimly sketched skyline had awakened homesickness in Susannah’s heart; in Eddie’s it kindled a sudden blaze of supposition. If the city was still there-and it clearly was-it might still be populated, and maybe not just by the subhuman things Roland had met under the mountains, either. The city-dwellers might be

  (Americans, Eddie’s subconscious whispered)

  intelligent and helpful; they might, in fact, spell the difference between success and failure for the quest of the pilgrims… or even between life and death. In Eddie’s mind a vision (partly cribbed from movies like The Last Starfighter and The Dark Crystal) gleamed brightly: a council of gnarled but dignified City Elders who would serve them a whopping meal drawn from the unspoiled stores of the city (or perhaps from special gardens cradled within environmental bubbles) and who would, as he and Roland and Susannah ate themselves silly, explain exactly what lay ahead and what it all meant. Their parting gift to the wayfarers would be an AAA-approved Tour Guide map with the best route to the Dark Tower marked in red.

  Eddie did not know the phrase deus ex machina, but he knew-had now grown up enough to know-that such wise and kindly folk lived mostly in comic books and B-movies. The idea was intoxicating, all the same: an enclave of civilization in this dangerous, mostly empty world; wise old elf-men who would tell them just what the fuck it was they were supposed to be doing. And the fabulous shapes of the city disclosed in that hazy skyline made the idea seem at least possible. Even if the city was totally deserted, the population wiped out by some long-ago plague or outbreak of chemical warfare, it might still serve them as a kind of giant toolbox-a huge Army-Navy Surplus Store where they could outfit themselves for the hard passages Eddie was sure must lie ahead. Besides, he was a city boy, born and bred, and the sight of all those tall towers just naturally got him up.

  “All right!” he said, almost laughing out loud in his excitement. “Hey-ho, let’s go! Bring on those wise fuckin elves!”

  Susannah looked at him, puzzled but smiling. “What you ravin about, white boy?”

  “Nothing. Never mind. I just want to get moving. What do you say, Roland? Want to-”

  But something on Roland’s face or just beneath it-some lost, dreaming thing-caused him to fall silent and put one arm around Susannah’s shoulders, as if to protect her.

  15

  AFTER ONE BRIEF, DISMISSIVE glance at the city skyline, Roland’s gaze had been caught by something a good deal closer to their current position, something that filled him with disquiet and foreboding. He had seen such things before, and the last time he’d come across one, Jake had been with him. He remembered how they had finally come out of the desert, the trail of the man in black leading them through the foothills and toward the mountains. Hard going, it had been, but at least there had been water again. And grass.

  One night he had awakened to find Jake gone. He had heard strangled, desperate cries coming from a willow-grove hard by a narrow trickle of stream. By the time he had fought his way through to the clearing at the center of the grove, the boy’s cries had ceased. Roland had found him standing in a place exactly like the one which lay below and ahead. A place of stones; a place of sacrifice; a place where an Oracle lived… and spoke when it was forced to… and killed whenever it could.

  “Roland?” Eddie asked. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “Do you see that?” Roland pointed. “It’s a speaking ring. The shapes you see are tall standing stones.” He found himself staring at Eddie, whom he had first met in the frightening but wonderful air-carriage of that strange other world where the gunslingers wore blue uniforms and there was an endless supply of sugar, paper, and wonderful drugs like astin. Some strange expression-some foreknowledge-w
as dawning on Eddie’s face. The bright hope which had lit his eyes as he surveyed the city whiffed out, leaving him with a look both gray and bleak. It was the expression of a man studying the gallows on which he will soon be hanged.

  First Jake, and now Eddie, the gunslinger thought. The wheel which turns our lives is remorseless; always it comes around to the same place again.

  “Oh shit,” Eddie said. His voice was dry and scared. “I think that’s the place where the kid is going to try and come through.”

  The gunslinger nodded. “Very likely. They’re thin places, and they’re also attractive places. I followed him to such a place once before. The Oracle that kept there came very close to killing him.”

  “How do you know this?” Susannah asked Eddie. “Was it a dream?”

  He only shook his head. “I don’t know. But the minute Roland pointed that goddamn place out…” He broke off and looked at the gunslinger. “We have to get there, just as fast as we can.” Eddie sounded both frantic and fearful.

  “Is it going to happen today?” Roland asked. “Tonight?”

  Eddie shook his head again, and licked his lips. “I don’t know that, either. Not for sure. Tonight? I don’t think so. Time… it isn’t the same over here as it is where the kid is. It goes slower in his where and when. Maybe tomorrow.” He had been battling panic, but now it broke free. He turned and grabbed Roland’s shirt with his cold, sweating fingers. “But I’m supposed to finish the key, and I haven’t, and I’m supposed to do something else, and I don’t have a clue about what it is. And if the kid dies, it’ll be my fault!”

  The gunslinger locked his own hands over Eddie’s and pulled them away from his shirt. “Get control of yourself.”

  “Roland, don’t you understand-”

  “I understand that whining and puling won’t solve your problem. I understand that you have forgotten the face of your father.”

  “Quit that bullshit! I don’t care dick about my father!” Eddie shouted hysterically, and Roland hit him across the face. His hand made a sound like a breaking branch.

  Eddie’s head rocked back; his eyes widened with shock. He stared at the gunslinger, then slowly raised his hand to touch the reddening handprint on his cheek. “You bastard!” he whispered. His hand dropped to the butt of the revolver he still wore on his left hip. Susannah tried to put her own hands over it; Eddie pushed them away.

  And now I must teach again, Roland thought, only this time I teach for my own life, I think, as well as for his.

  Somewhere in the distance a crow hailed its harsh cry into the stillness, and Roland thought for a moment of his hawk, David. Now Eddie was his hawk… and like David, he would not scruple to tear out his eye if he gave so much as a single inch.

  Or his throat.

  “Will you shoot me? Is that how you’d have it end, Eddie?”

  “Man, I’m so fucking tired of your jive,” Eddie said. His eyes were blurred with tears and fury.

  “You haven’t finished the key, but not because you are afraid to finish. You’re afraid of finding you can’t finish. You’re afraid to go down to where the stones stand, but not because you’re afraid of what may come once you enter the circle. You’re afraid of what may not come. You’re not afraid of the great world, Eddie, but of the small one inside yourself. You haven’t forgotten the face of your father. So do it. Shoot me if you dare. I’m tired of watching you blubber.”

  “Stop it!” Susannah screamed at him. “Can’t you see he’ll do it? Can’t you see you’re forcing him to do it?”

  Roland cut his eyes toward her. “I’m forcing him to decide.” He looked back at Eddie, and his deeply lined face was stem. “You have come from the shadow of the heroin and the shadow of your brother, my friend. Come from the shadow of yourself, if you dare. Come now. Come out or shoot me and have done with it.”

  For a moment he thought Eddie was going to do just that, and it would all end right here, on this high ridge, beneath a cloudless summer sky with the spires of the city glimmering on the horizon like blue ghosts. Then Eddie’s cheek began to twitch. The firm line of his lips softened and began to tremble. His hand fell from the sandalwood butt of Roland’s gun. His chest hitched once… twice… three times. His mouth opened and all his despair and terror came out in one groaning cry as he blundered toward the gunslinger.

  “I’m afraid, you numb fuck! Don’t you understand that? Roland, I’m afraid!”

  His feet tangled together, He fell forward. Roland caught him and held him close, smelling the sweat and dirt on his skin, smelling his tears and terror.

  The gunslinger embraced him for a moment, then turned him toward Susannah. Eddie dropped to his knees beside her chair, his head hanging wearily. She put a hand on the back of his neck, pressing his head against her thigh, and said bitterly to Roland, “Sometimes I hate you, big white man.”

  Roland placed the heels of his hands against his forehead and pressed hard. “Sometimes I hate myself.”

  “Don’t ever stop you, though, do it?”

  Roland didn’t reply. He looked at Eddie, who lay with his cheek pressed against Susannah’s thigh and his eyes tightly shut. His face was a study in misery. Roland fought away the dragging weariness that made him want to leave the rest of this charming discussion for another day. If Eddie was right, there was no other day. Jake was almost ready to make his move. Eddie had been chosen to midwife the boy into this world. If he wasn’t prepared to do that, Jake would die at the point of entry, as surely as an infant must strangle if the mother-root is tangled about its neck when the contractions begin,

  “Stand up, Eddie.”

  For a moment he thought Eddie would simply go on crouching there and hiding his face against the woman’s leg. If so, everything was lost… and that was ka, too. Then, slowly, Eddie got to his feet. He stood there with everything-hands, shoulders, head, hair-hanging, not good, but he was up, and that was a start.

  “Look at me.”

  Susannah stirred uneasily, but this time she said nothing.

  Slowly, Eddie raised his head and brushed the hair out of his eyes with a trembling hand.

  “This is for you. I was wrong to take it at all, no matter how deep my pain.” Roland curled his hand around the rawhide strip and yanked, snapping it. He held the key out to Eddie. Eddie reached for it like a man in a dream, but Roland did not immediately open his hand. “Will you try to do what needs to be done?”

  “Yes.” His voice was almost inaudible.

  “Do you have something to tell me?”

  “I’m sorry I’m afraid.” There was something terrible in Eddie’s voice, something which hurt Roland’s heart, and he supposed, he knew what it was: here was the last of Eddie’s childhood, expiring painfully among the three of them. It could not be seen, but Roland could hear its weakening cries. He tried to make himself deaf to them.

  Something else I’ve done in the name of the Tower. My score grows ever longer, and the day when it will all have to be totted up, like a longtime drunkard’s bill in an alehouse, draws ever nearer. How will I ever pay?

  “I don’t want your apology, least of all for being afraid,” he said.

  “Without fear, what would we be? Mad dogs with foam on our muzzles and shit drying on our hocks.”

  “What do you want, then?” Eddie cried. “You’ve taken everything else - everything I have to give! No, not even that, because in the end, I gave it to you! So what else do you want from me?”

  Roland held the key which was their half of Jake Chambers’s salvation locked in his fist and said nothing. His eyes held Eddie’s, and the sun shone on the green expanse of plain and the blue-gray reach of the Send River, and somewhere in the distance the crow hailed again across the golden leagues of this fading summer afternoon.

  After a while, understanding began to dawn in Eddie Dean’s eyes.

  Roland nodded.

  “I have forgotten the face…” Eddie paused. Dipped his head. Swallowed. Looked up at the gunslinger once mor
e. The thing which had been dying among them had moved on now - Roland knew it. That thing was gone. Just like that. Here, on this sunny wind-swept ridge at the edge of everything, it had gone forever. “I have forgotten the face of my father, gunslinger… and I cry your pardon.”

  Roland opened his hand and returned the small burden of the key to him who ka had decreed must carry it. “Speak not so, gunslinger,” he said in the High Speech. “Your father sees you very well… loves you very well… and so do I.”

  Eddie closed his own hand over the key and turned away with his tears still drying on his face. “Let’s go,” he said, and they began to move down the long hill toward the plain which stretched beyond.

  16

  JAKE WALKED SLOWLY ALONG Castle Avenue, past pizza shops and bars and bodegas where old women with suspicious faces poked the potatoes and squeezed the tomatoes. The straps of his pack had chafed the skin beneath his arms, and his feet hurt. He passed beneath a digital thermometer which announced it was eighty-five. It felt more like a hundred and five to Jake.

  Up ahead, a police car turned onto the Avenue. Jake at once became extremely interested in a display of gardening supplies in the window of a hardware store. He watched the reflection of the blue-and-white pass in the window and didn’t move until it was gone.

  Hey, Jake, old buddy-where, exactly, are you going?

  He hadn’t the slightest idea. He felt positive that the boy he was looking for-the boy in the green bandanna and the yellow T-shirt that said NEVER A DULL MOMENT IN MID-WORLD-was somewhere close by, but so what? To Jake he was still nothing but a needle hiding in the haystack which was Brooklyn.

  He passed an alley which had been decorated with a tangle of spray-painted graffiti. Mostly they were names-EL TIANTE 91, SPEEDY GONZALES, MOTORVAN MIKE-but a few mottos and words to the wise had been dropped in here and there, and Jake’s eyes fixed on two of these.