The Great Wheel by Ian R MacLeod

Author:Ian R MacLeod [MacLeod, Ian R]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781480423701
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

IT WAS EVENING BY the time he drew close to Hemhill. As the sights grew more familiar, the last part of the journey seemed to slow and expand. The lights of one of the great agripedes sparkled like moonlight through the tall hedges, and he braked the car and buzzed down the window to let in the summer smells of ripening jelt and corn.

After the long journey, it was odd to make this switch to the real and the particular. He remembered how he’d once had dreams of what it would be like to return home from somewhere far off. The dreams were unspecific, but in them he’d always done something marvelous while he was away, and everyone he knew would be waiting. Hal was there at the front, shaking his head and smiling down at his little brother. I’d never have believed it. Skiddle…

He passed the big oak at the railinged edge of Hemhill’s small central park where, swift and exulting—at least until he looked down—he’d once climbed. The streets and the houses were variations on neatness, with names that changed occasionally to suit the whims of death, divorce, company moves, and the house market. Sixpenny House. Arden. Leaves flashed overhead, and the white gate of his parents’ house swung open at his approach. He stopped the car and stepped out, blinking as the lights came on.

“That is you…?”

His mother’s shadow stretched out from the doorstep. His father waited in silhouette behind.

“I was saying, wasn’t I? That you might be back. I had this feeling.”

She planted a dry kiss on his cheek and pulled him swiftly inside.

“Come. It’s…”

Their hands and words floated around him. He went into the lounge, where they had new chairs. He sat on one. And a new carpet; some kind of material that managed to be soft and smooth yet was dustless so as not to irritate their lungs. New wallpaper, too. And a new card in the picture in the wall, which displayed an almost white landscape clothed in either moonlight or snow. His mother had already shot off to the kitchen, and his father sat facing him, hands clasped, elbows on his knees, leaning forward in his chair. There were age mottles on his father’s face now, and the thinning gray hair was swept from a shining sweep of skin-covered bone. His cheeks sagged. He was nearly sixty.

“You look well.”

“Thanks. You too, Dad.”

“It’s…Hmmm.”

John smiled at the house cleaner as it swiveled into the room to pick up the tray of tea china that lay on a sidetable. He raised a hand to delay the command and draw it over. He placed his palm on the warm brass dome, stroking to the rough edge of the cpu plate that he and Hal had so often removed.

“Exactly how long,” his father was asking, “will you be staying, John?” He blinked. “What I mean is…”

“What he means,” his mother called from the kitchen, “is that you’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”

“Just two days,” John said.

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