Wolves of the Calla - Stephen King [64]
But here Tian, who had been talking, felt Zalia’s eyes on him and went back to the pot for more beans. And a conciliatory dish of his wife’s slaw.
“So,” Eddie said, and drew a curve in the dirt. “These are the borderlands. The Callas. An arc that goes north and south for…how far, Zalia?”
“ ’Tis men’s business, so it is,” she said. Then, seeing her own man was still at the embering fire, inspecting the pots, she leaned forward a bit toward Eddie. “Do you speak in miles or wheels?”
“A little of both, but I’m better with miles.”
She nodded. “Mayhap two thousand miles so”—she pointed north—“and twice that, so.” To the south. She remained that way, pointing in opposite directions, then dropped her arms, clasped her hands in her lap, and resumed her former demure pose.
“And these towns…these Callas…stretch the whole way?”
“So we’re told, if it please ya, and the traders do come and go. Northwest of here, the Big River splits in two. We call the east branch Devar-Tete Whye—the Little Whye, you might say. Of course we see more river-travel from the north, for the river flows north to south, do ya see.”
“I do. And to the east?”
She looked down. “Thunderclap,” she said in a voice Eddie could barely hear. “None go there.”
“Why?”
“It’s dark there,” said she, still not looking up from her lap. Then she raised an arm. This time she pointed in the direction from which Roland and his friends had come. Back toward Mid-World. “There,” she said, “the world is ending. Or so we’re told. And there…” She pointed east and now raised her face to Eddie’s. “There, in Thunderclap, it’s already ended. In the middle are we, who only want to go our way in peace.”
“And do you think it will happen?”
“No.” And Eddie saw she was crying.
Two
Shortly after this, Eddie excused himself and stepped into a copse of trees for a personal moment. When he rose from his squat, reaching for some leaves with which to clean himself, a voice spoke from directly behind him.
“Not those, sai, do it please ya. Those be poison flurry. Wipe with those and how you’ll itch.”
Eddie jumped and wheeled around, grabbing the waistband of his jeans with one hand and reaching for Roland’s gunbelt, hanging from the branch of a nearby tree, with the other. Then he saw who had spoken—or what—and relaxed a little.
“Andy, it’s not really kosher to creep up behind people when they’re taking a dump.” Then he pointed to a thatch of low green bushes. “What about those? How much trouble will I get into if I wipe with those?”
There were pauses and clicks.
“What?” Eddie asked. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” Andy said. “I’m simply processing information, sai. Kosher: unknown word. Creeping up: I didn’t, I walked, if it do ye fine. Taking a dump: likely slang for the excretion of—”
“Yeah,” Eddie said, “that’s what it is. But listen—if you didn’t creep up on me, Andy, how come I didn’t hear you? I mean, there’s underbrush. Most people make noise when they go through underbrush.”
“I am not a person, sai,” Andy said. Eddie thought he sounded smug.
“Guy, then. How can a big guy like you be so quiet?”
“Programming,” Andy said. “Those leaves will be fine, do ya.”
Eddie rolled his eyes, then grabbed a bunch. “Oh yeah. Programming. Sure. Should have known. Thankee-sai, long days, kiss my ass and go to heaven.”
“Heaven,” said Andy. “A place one goes after death; a kind of paradise. According to the Old Fella, those who go to heaven sitteth at the right hand of God the Father Almighty, forever and ever.”
“Yeah? Who’s gonna sit at his left hand? All the Tupperware salesmen?”
“Sai, I don’t know. Tupperware is an unknown word to me. Would you like your horoscope?”
“Why not?” Eddie said. He started back toward the camp, guided