Wolves of the Calla - Stephen King [228]
“An unlucky one, by all accounts. Here, schmoozing is called commala. It’s their word for damned near everything.” Callahan was a little amused by how badly he wanted to regain the gunslinger’s regard. A little disgusted with himself, as well. “In any case, I wish you well with it.”
Roland nodded. Callahan started up toward the rectory, where Rosalita already had harnessed the horses to the buckboard and now waited impatiently for Callahan to come, so they could be about God’s work. Halfway up the slope, Callahan turned back.
“I do not apologize for my beliefs,” he said, “but if I have complicated your work here in the Calla, I’m sorry.”
“Your Man Jesus seems to me a bit of a son of a bitch when it comes to women,” Roland said. “Was He ever married?”
The corners of Callahan’s mouth quirked. “No,” he said, “but His girlfriend was a whore.”
“Well,” Roland said, “that’s a start.”
Four
Roland went back to leaning on the fence. The day called out to him to begin, but he wanted to give Callahan a head start. There was no more reason for this than there had been for rejecting Andy out of hand; just a feeling.
He was still there, and rolling another smoke, when Eddie came down the hill with his shirt flapping out behind him and his boots in one hand.
“Hile, Eddie,” Roland said.
“Hile, boss. Saw you talking with Callahan. Give us this day, our Wilma and Fred.”
Roland raised his eyebrows.
“Never mind,” Eddie said. “Roland, in all the excitement I never got a chance to tell you Gran-pere’s story. And it’s important.”
“Is Susannah up?”
“Yep. Having a wash. Jake’s eating what looks like a twelve-egg omelet.”
Roland nodded. “I’ve fed the horses. We can saddle them while you tell me the old man’s tale.”
“Don’t think it’ll take that long,” Eddie said, and it didn’t. He came to the punchline—which the old man had whispered into his ear—just as they reached the barn. Roland turned toward him, the horses forgotten. His eyes were blazing. The hands he clamped on Eddie’s shoulders—even the diminished right—were powerful.
“Repeat it!”
Eddie took no offense. “He told me to lean close. I did. He said he’d never told anyone but his son, which I believe. Tian and Zalia know he was out there—or says he was—but they don’t know what he saw when he pulled the mask off the thing. I don’t think they even know Red Molly was the one who dropped it. And then he whispered…” Once again Eddie told Roland what Tian’s Gran-pere claimed to have seen.
Roland’s glare of triumph was so brilliant it was frightening. “Gray horses!” he said. “All those horses the exact same shade! Do you understand now, Eddie? Do you?”
“Yep,” Eddie said. His teeth appeared in a grin. It was not particularly comforting, that grin. “As the chorus girl said to the businessman, we’ve been here before.”
Five
In standard American English, the word with the most gradations of meaning is probably run. The Random House unabridged dictionary offers one hundred and seventy-eight options, beginning with “to go quickly by moving the legs more rapidly than at a walk” and ending with “melted or liquefied.” In the Crescent-Callas of the borderlands between Mid-World and Thunderclap, the blue ribbon for most meanings would have gone to commala. If the word were listed in the Random House unabridged, the first definition (assuming they were assigned, as is common, in order of widest usage), would have been “a variety of rice grown at the furthermost eastern edge of All-World.” The second one, however would have been “sexual intercourse.” The third would have been “sexual orgasm,” as in Did’ee come commala? (The hoped-for reply being Aye, say thankya, commala big-big.) To wet the commala is to irrigate the rice in a dry time; it is also to masturbate. Commala is the commencement of some big and joyful meal, like a family feast (not the meal itself, do ya, but the moment of beginning to eat). A man who is losing his hair (as Garrett Strong was that season), is coming commala. Putting animals out to stud is damp commala. Gelded animals are