sober ones who passed the test.
Bill finished his plate and pushed it slightly away from him. "I passed a test today."
I knew what he was going to say, and it felt as if the heat had been sucked out of my body; out of the room. "The sheriff's test?"
"That's right. I'm going to become one of them. A Man."
"You didn't say anything about"
"Are you surprised?" He stared at me like a stranger on a bus.
"No," I finally said. "I thought you might wait until we were gone." And not be so obviously a traitor, I kept myself from saying.
"You still have time to change your mind," Marygay said. "They're not starting the program until deep winter."
"That's true," Bill said without elaboration. It felt like he was halfway there already.
Sara had put down her knife and fork and was not looking at Bill. "I've decided, too."
"You're not old enough to take the test yet," I said, perhaps a little too firmly.
"Not that. I've decided to go with you. If there's room for me."
"Of course there is!" No matter who we have to leave behind.
Bill looked startled. "I thought you were going to"
"There's plenty of time for that." She looked at her mother with pretty earnestness. "You think that Man will be long gone when you return. I think they'll still be here, in improved, evolved form. That's when I'll join them, and bring them all that I've learned and seen on the voyage." Then she looked at me with her dimpled open smile. "Will you take me, as a spy for the other side?"
"Of course I will." I looked at Bill. "We do have to take a Man or two. The family could stay together."
"You don't understand. You don't get it at all." He stood up. "I'm going to a new world, too. And I'm going tomorrow."
"You're leaving?" Marygay said.
"Forever," he said. "I can't stand this anymore. I'm going to Centrus."
There was a long silence. "What about the house?" I said. "The fish?" The plan had been for him to take it all over, when we left.
"You'll just have to find somebody else." He was almost shouting. "I can't live here! I have to get out and start over."
"You couldn't wait until" I began.
"No!" He glared at me, struggling for words, and then just shook his head and left the table. We watched in silence as he threw on his cold-weather gear and went outside.
"You aren't surprised," Sara said.
"We talked this over," I said. "He was going to keep the place; do the trotlines."
"The hell with the fish," Marygay said quietly. "Don't you see we just lost him? Lost him for good." She didn't cry until we were upstairs.
I just felt numb. I realized I'd given him up a long time ago. It's easier to stop being a father than a mother.
BOOK TWOThe Book Of Changes
Chapter nine
Bill only stayed in Centrus for two days. He came back, embarrassed at his outburst. There was still no way he was going to get aboard that starship, but he wasn't going to go back on his word; he'd take care of the fish as long as it was necessary.
I couldn't blame him for wanting to go his own way. Like father, like son. Marygay was happy at his return, but wistful and a little shaken. How many times would she have to lose her son?
We were headed for the big city ourselves, which provoked an odd association with my own boyhood.
An unimaginably long time ago, when I was seven or eight, my hippy parents spent the summer in a commune in Alaska. (That's when my brother was conceived, by somebody; my father always insisted he looked like him!)
It was a fun summer, a highlight of my childhood. We puffed up the Alcan Highway in our old Deadhead Volkswagen bus, camping or stopping in little Canadian towns along the way.
When we got to Anchorage, it seemed huge, and for years after, whenever he told people about the trip, my father quoted the guidebook: If you fly into Anchorage from an American city of any size, it seems small and quaint. If you drive or ferry up through all the little villages, it seems like a teeming metropolis.
I always remembered that when I came into
Bill finished his plate and pushed it slightly away from him. "I passed a test today."
I knew what he was going to say, and it felt as if the heat had been sucked out of my body; out of the room. "The sheriff's test?"
"That's right. I'm going to become one of them. A Man."
"You didn't say anything about"
"Are you surprised?" He stared at me like a stranger on a bus.
"No," I finally said. "I thought you might wait until we were gone." And not be so obviously a traitor, I kept myself from saying.
"You still have time to change your mind," Marygay said. "They're not starting the program until deep winter."
"That's true," Bill said without elaboration. It felt like he was halfway there already.
Sara had put down her knife and fork and was not looking at Bill. "I've decided, too."
"You're not old enough to take the test yet," I said, perhaps a little too firmly.
"Not that. I've decided to go with you. If there's room for me."
"Of course there is!" No matter who we have to leave behind.
Bill looked startled. "I thought you were going to"
"There's plenty of time for that." She looked at her mother with pretty earnestness. "You think that Man will be long gone when you return. I think they'll still be here, in improved, evolved form. That's when I'll join them, and bring them all that I've learned and seen on the voyage." Then she looked at me with her dimpled open smile. "Will you take me, as a spy for the other side?"
"Of course I will." I looked at Bill. "We do have to take a Man or two. The family could stay together."
"You don't understand. You don't get it at all." He stood up. "I'm going to a new world, too. And I'm going tomorrow."
"You're leaving?" Marygay said.
"Forever," he said. "I can't stand this anymore. I'm going to Centrus."
There was a long silence. "What about the house?" I said. "The fish?" The plan had been for him to take it all over, when we left.
"You'll just have to find somebody else." He was almost shouting. "I can't live here! I have to get out and start over."
"You couldn't wait until" I began.
"No!" He glared at me, struggling for words, and then just shook his head and left the table. We watched in silence as he threw on his cold-weather gear and went outside.
"You aren't surprised," Sara said.
"We talked this over," I said. "He was going to keep the place; do the trotlines."
"The hell with the fish," Marygay said quietly. "Don't you see we just lost him? Lost him for good." She didn't cry until we were upstairs.
I just felt numb. I realized I'd given him up a long time ago. It's easier to stop being a father than a mother.
BOOK TWOThe Book Of Changes
Chapter nine
Bill only stayed in Centrus for two days. He came back, embarrassed at his outburst. There was still no way he was going to get aboard that starship, but he wasn't going to go back on his word; he'd take care of the fish as long as it was necessary.
I couldn't blame him for wanting to go his own way. Like father, like son. Marygay was happy at his return, but wistful and a little shaken. How many times would she have to lose her son?
We were headed for the big city ourselves, which provoked an odd association with my own boyhood.
An unimaginably long time ago, when I was seven or eight, my hippy parents spent the summer in a commune in Alaska. (That's when my brother was conceived, by somebody; my father always insisted he looked like him!)
It was a fun summer, a highlight of my childhood. We puffed up the Alcan Highway in our old Deadhead Volkswagen bus, camping or stopping in little Canadian towns along the way.
When we got to Anchorage, it seemed huge, and for years after, whenever he told people about the trip, my father quoted the guidebook: If you fly into Anchorage from an American city of any size, it seems small and quaint. If you drive or ferry up through all the little villages, it seems like a teeming metropolis.
I always remembered that when I came into
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