The Wind Is Not a River by Brian Payton

Author:Brian Payton
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9780062279996
Publisher: Ecco
Published: 2014-01-21T00:00:00+00:00

EASLEY WAKES to the sound of a truck rumbling down the road. He holds his breath as the vehicle passes the house and continues onto the beach below. Falling asleep in the enemy’s lap? Karl would be sorely disappointed. When Easley hears only wind, he rises to his knees and peeks through rippled panes. He sees no movement, save the distorted image of a lone soldier walking away from the village toward the camp. The man carries a large empty sack, his free hand moving to his lips every couple of strides. Cigarette.

Since the truck is on the beach, he will have to escape directly over the hill. He steps out the door and sees several bulging sacks near a large tank at the rear of the adjacent house. He pulls back against the wall.

Easley keeps low to the ground as he moves between buildings. When he reaches the second house, which is much like the first, he listens for signs of life. Hearing none, he opens the first sack. Heavy canvas with a metal clamp on top, Japanese characters stamped down one side. When this war is done, will we all be forced to learn Japanese? He pulls out a pair of trousers and a sock falls onto the grass. He reaches in for another sock, then shoves the pair into his pocket. He rifles through, finds a pair of trousers that might possibly fit, and stuffs it into his pack. He closes the first bag and opens the others: shirts, underpants. Easley grabs two of the latter, then puts the sack back the way he found it.

Roads. Houses. Other people’s clothes. Despite the danger, this feels better than being left alone with his thoughts in the cave. Here, the immediate danger makes the world seem brighter, more alive somehow, the line dividing the real and the imagined more clearly defined. And yet the protective pull is strong. Tatiana is all alone.

As he moves beyond view of the village, Easley can sense he’s being followed. Instead of fear, there is a warm surge of relief. And so this is how it ends. Unfamiliar with the customs of surrender, left with neither the desire nor a place to hide, Easley continues walking away from the harbor. They will shoot him in the back, or call out and he will raise his hands in the air. When neither happens, impatience rushes in. He reaches a ditch carved by a little stream. He drops down, hides behind the rise of grass and stone.

When at last Easley raises his head, he finds himself staring at the muzzle of a dog. It neither cowers nor barks. Instead, it sits on its haunches about six yards away, staring back at him. As it yawns, its ears pull back and its tongue curls out in a long, pink hook. Easley looks to see if the dog has betrayed his position but finds no sign. He gazes into the dog’s inquisitive face. “C’mere.”

The tail wags on approach.

“You speak English.

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