Wolves of the Calla - Stephen King [230]
Roland knew he only had to ask Susannah herself if he wanted an answer to that question, but he was curious. When they arrived, they found the entire family gathered on the back porch, and several of Tian’s neighbors, as well: Jorge Estrada and his wife, Diego Adams (in chaps), the Javiers. They looked like spectators at a Points practice. Zalman and Tia, the roont twins, stood to one side, goggling at all the company with wide eyes. Andy was also there, holding baby Aaron (who was sleeping) in his arms.
“Roland, if you wanted all this kept secret, guess what?” Eddie said.
Roland was not put out of countenance, although he realized now that his threat to the cowboys who’d seen sai Eisenhart throw the dish had been utterly useless. Country-folk talked, that was all. Whether in the borderlands or the baronies, gossip was ever the chief sport. And at the very least, he mused, those humpies will spread the news that Roland’s a hard boy, strong commala, and not to be trifled with.
“It is what it is,” he said. “The Calla-folken have known for donkey’s years that the Sisters of Oriza throw the dish. If they know Susannah throws it, too—and well—maybe it’s to the good.”
Jake said, “I just hope she doesn’t, you know, mess up.”
There were respectful greetings for Roland, Eddie, and Jake as they mounted the porch. Andy told Jake a young lady was pining for him. Jake blushed and said he’d just as soon not know about stuff like that, if that did Andy all right.
“As you will, soh.” Jake found himself studying the words and numbers stamped on Andy’s midsection like a steel tattoo and wondering again if he was really in this world of robots and cowboys, or if it was all some sort of extraordinarily vivid dream. “I hope this baby will wake up soon, so I do. And cry! Because I know several soothing cradle-songs—”
“Hush up, ye creakun steel bandit!” Gran-pere said crossly, and after crying the old man’s pardon (in his usual complacent, not-a-bit-sorry tone of voice), Andy did. Messenger, Many Other Functions, Jake thought. Is one of your other functions teasing folks, Andy, or is that just my imagination?
Susannah had gone into the house with Zalia. When they came out, Susannah was wearing not one reed pouch, but two. They hung to her hips on a pair of woven straps. There was another strap, too, Eddie saw, running around her waist and holding the pouches snug. Like holster tie-downs.
“That’s quite the hookup, say thankya,” Diego Adams remarked.
“Susannah thought it up,” Zalia said as Susannah got into her wheelchair. “She calls it a docker’s clutch.”
It wasn’t, Eddie thought, not quite, but it was close. He felt an admiring smile lift the corners of his mouth, and saw a similar one on Roland’s. And Jake’s. By God, even Oy appeared to be grinning.
“Will it draw water, that’s what I wonder,” Bucky Javier said. That such a question should even be asked, Eddie thought, only emphasized the difference between the gunslingers and the Calla-folken. Eddie and his mates had known from first look what the hookup was and how it would work. Javier, however, was a smallhold farmer, and as such, saw the world in a very different way.
You need us, Eddie thought toward the little cluster of men standing on the porch—the farmers in their dirty white pants, Adams in his chaps and manure-splattered shor’boots. Boy, do you ever.
Susannah wheeled to the front of the porch and folded her stumps beneath her so she appeared almost to be standing in her chair. Eddie knew how much this posture hurt her, but no discomfort showed on her face. Roland, meanwhile, was looking down into the pouches she wore. There were four dishes in each, plain things with no pattern on them. Practice-dishes.
Zalia walked across to the barn. Although Roland and Eddie had noted the blanket tacked up there as soon as they arrived, the others noticed it for the first time when Zalia pulled it down. Drawn in chalk on the barnboards was the outline of a man—or a manlike being—with a frozen grin on his face and the suggestion of a cloak fluttering out