Random Walk: A Novel for a New Age

Twenty-Two

They reached Pipestone on the second day, as planned. The famous quarries were on federally-protected land, almost three hundred acres a few miles north of town on Route 75. They walked there, picked a campsite for the night, and then split up into small groups to explore the quarries and look at the rock formations.

The place felt holy to Guthrie. The tribes had held the land sacred, and hostilities had always been suspended here; whoever came to quarry the precious stone did so in peace. He wondered whether this practice had endowed the land with its power, or whether the Indians had merely been responding appropriately to a power the quartzite outcroppings and deposits of catlinite pipestone already possessed.

Whatever the case, it struck him as a good place for their last night together.

There was a cookfire, and a meal. Afterward Guthrie stood up in front of them and told them that this was their last night as a single group. “We’ll still be together in spirit,” he said, “but we’ll be spreading out to cover the country. Some of us will be going north into Canada, others will wind up in Mexico, maybe even farther south.” He called on each of the new leaders, and they gave a quick rundown of the route they intended to follow.

“But it’s all tentative,” Jody said when it was his turn. “You can make your plans, but they’re always subject to change. It looks as though the leader picks the route. That’s not really how it works. What happens is the route picks the leader.”

“The route may not even matter,” Guthrie said. “It’s the walking that matters. If you do that, you’ll get where you’re supposed to.”

When they’d finished, Sara announced they would end the evening by breathing in unison. In the past she’d had them arrange themselves in neat rows, all of them lying with their heads toward the north. This time she had them form a different arrangement. They placed themselves like the spokes of a wheel or the rays of a sun, with their heads toward the campfire at the wheel’s hub and their feet extended outward toward its rim.

“Go where the breath takes you,” she urged them. “Some of you already know which group you’ll be a part of tomorrow. Some of you haven’t decided yet. You’ll either find the answer tonight or wake up with it in the morning. Remember, whichever choice you make will be the right one.

“That’s one purpose for our breathing together tonight. There are other purposes, more of them than I know. Whenever we breathe like this our spirits touch, and they form bonds that can never be severed. I won’t be with all of you after tonight, and yet I will be, however far apart our bodies may be. I love you and I’ll never leave you.

“Let’s breathe.”

They breathed in unison for over an hour. Usually the connected breathing led to spells of unconsciousness, where the breathing was suspended intermittently and the breather sometimes left his body altogether, not responding to the words of the person monitoring him, sometimes insensitive to touch as well. But this time there was no unconsciousness, no interruptions of the breathing rhythm. Everybody managed to stay with the breath.

And, when it was over, Guthrie realized how unnecessary it had been to worry about losing any of them. They were all one being, one flesh, one spirit. They couldn’t lose each other even if they tried.

In the morning people got up, packed up their gear, and joined up with the leader they had decided to follow. The mood was low-key, and there was almost a sense of emotional anticlimax to it all. People about to part exchanged long hugs, but there was not a great deal of sorrow in the air.

Guthrie said his good-byes. When he and Jody embraced, he had a flash flood of memories of those first days back in June. Jody incredulous that he didn’t want a ride, Jody bringing back a six-pack of Coors, Jody quite incapable of driving off without coming back. Guthrie had been like Robinson Crusoe before he found the footprint, not even knowing how lonely he was. Ever since Jody had abandoned the Datsun pickup and started walking with him, Guthrie hadn’t been lonely once.

He felt love for this man, this curious saint who had traded his tattoo for the gift of healing pain. Warmth flowed from his heart as the two of them hugged, but when he let go he did so with no sense of loss. God only knew when he’d see Jody again, but God knew they’d never really leave each other.

“Well,” Jody said, holding him by the shoulders. “You go get ’em, hoss.”

“You too.”

“Tell me one thing. What do I do if I get lost?”

“Just don’t let on.”

One by one, the groups formed and left. Guthrie waited, determined to be the last to leave. When Dingo and Gary moved off with their crew, a large batch headed for Canada, he counted those who remained and came up with twenty-one. Sara was there, of course, as she’d said she would be. So were Herb and Aggie Curzon, one of the couples who’d driven up from Yellowstone in their camper. And Mark Adlon, who evidently had more to teach him. And Neila, the near-silent waif who’d walked out of the Hen House with Kate and Jamie, and who’d lost her silence altogether somewhere in the vastness of Montana. She was getting a massage from Mark Adlon, she the victim of child abuse and sexual torture, he the mass murderer of women; it wasn’t hard to imagine that those two had things to learn from each other.

And Jerry Arbison was there, and Amanita and her baby Jane. And two of the jack-Mormon kids; both of Gene’s wives were still with him, but two of the older children had decided to strike out on their own. And ten other people who had joined fairly recently, and whom he didn’t yet know very well. He’d know them soon enough, he thought. He’d have a chance now, the group was small enough once again so that everyone would know everyone else.

Wait a minute. Where was Thom Duskin?

“He went with Les and Georgia,” Sara said. “He wanted a look at the Southwest. And he and Jordan wanted to stick together, and Jordan had a strong vision of the desert during the breathing last night.”

“It must have been hard to let him go.”

“It was, but it was time, Guthrie. He’s a child, he’s thirteen, but I think they grow up fast on this walk. He’s going to be coming into his powers soon, and he can’t do that with his mother around, especially when she can see things that other people can’t. Besides,” she added, “Les and Georgia can use a little help.”

“You don’t think they’re good candidates for leaders?”

“I think they’re excellent, but I think they’re going to have their hands full, and not just after the baby comes.”

“The baby?”

“In about eight months. Maybe a little less than that.”

“They didn’t say a word.”

She smiled. “I don’t think they know yet. I didn’t feel it was my place to tell them.”

“I suppose they’ll find out soon enough. She’ll make a good mother. As far as that goes, he’ll make a good father. Remember when he couldn’t get that tire changed because the spare was flat? What an unlikely prospect he looked to be.”

“And he couldn’t get away from us. He was just going to walk to the nearest phone.”

“And you remember how he was with Mame? He didn’t care how slowly she walked, or if he had to carry her back when she couldn’t walk anymore. What a sweet man he turned out to be.” He frowned. “But how’ll they manage when her time comes? Will they be able to get to a hospital?”

“Gee, I hope so,” she said, very seriously. “Maybe they can find a hospital for her and a dentist for that kid who jumped down from the troop carrier.”

“You mean Ken. Did he go with them? I thought — oh, all right. They won’t need a hospital any more than he’ll need a dentist. I suppose if we can heal terminal illnesses we can handle a simple birth, can’t we? And people will stand in line for the honor of taking away her labor pains. God, imagine being born in a circle of breathers, with everybody tuned in and linked with you. Do you happen to know what she’s going to have?”

“A baby.”

“Really? I figured an otter. I mean is it going to be a boy or a girl?”

“I didn’t notice.”

“Would you tell me if you had?”

She grinned. “Nope,” she said. “There are some things, my dear, that we are not meant to know ahead of time.”

They walked back to Pipestone and headed east on Route 30. The sky was overcast, the day cooler than usual. He walked with Neila, then with one of the jack-Mormon kids. They all stopped for lunch at a Dairy Queen. He ate french fries from a paper cone and thought about Les and Georgia’s baby. “Do you happen to know what she’s going to have?” “A baby.” “Really? I figured an otter.”

Why an otter? Something somebody had said, but what and when?

Oh, right. “Then I started hearing all this crap on the news about women dying because of IUDs, or giving birth to otters, or whatever was happening to them—”

Kit, the day it all started, or got ready to start. Kit, fresh out of the abortion clinic, wearing an Oregon State sweatshirt and an ironic smile.

There was a pay phone down at the end of the counter. And the cashier, breaking a fresh roll of quarters, seemed perfectly willing to sell him as many as he wanted.

He studied the map for a few minutes, then went over to the phone. He could call Information, he thought, without necessarily calling her. It wouldn’t even cost him anything.

But when he lifted the receiver her number was just there, obligingly furnished by his memory. He couldn’t remember when he’d called her last, but there was her number. At least he thought it was her number.

So he more or less had to call, didn’t he? If only to see if it was really her number.

Dialing, he told himself she probably wouldn’t be home; he was still thinking that when she picked up midway through the second ring.

He said, “Kit, it’s Guthrie.”

“Woody or Arlo?”

“It’s hard to remember.”

“Where are you? Are you in town? What happened to you, where did you go to? When did you get back?”

“I’m not in town.”

“So where are you?”

“I’m a few miles east of Pipestone, Minnesota.”

“Now that’s funny,” she said. “I was just thinking to myself, I’ll bet the man is a few miles east of Pipestone, Minnesota. Where in the hell is Pipestone, Minnesota?”

“In the southwest corner of the state.”

“The state in question being Minnesota?”

“Very good.”

“What are you doing there?”

“Eating some french fries,” he said.

“They any good?”

“Your basic Dairy Queen fries.”

“A little too salty, as I remember.”

“A little too soggy, too.”

“Besides researching The Gourmet’s Guide to Fast Food—”

“I’m on my way east.”

“And you had a couple minutes between planes and thought you’d call an old friend?”

“No planes.”

“How’d you get there? You didn’t drive, you sold your car to Harry. Who turned a nice profit on it, according to rumor.”

“I’m glad for him. I walked here, Kit.”

A short silence. “I could have sworn you said—”

“I did.”

“Walked from Oregon?”

“That’s right.”

“This isn’t a joke. You walked from Oregon to Soapstone, Minnesota.”

“Pipestone.”

“Iceberg, Goldberg, what’s the difference? You remember that joke?”

“Of course I remember.”

“Good joke.”

“Uh-huh. Kit, there’s sort of a reason why I called.”

“I was thinking there might be.”

“Yeah. Uh, I thought you might like to come east.”

“To Grindstone?”

“No, because I’m not staying here. There’s a city called Albert Lea due east of here and I’ll be getting there in about six days, maybe seven if we take it slow.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“There are twenty-one of us.”

“All walking.”

“That’s right.”

“And you thought—”

The operator called in, telling him to signal when through. Kit offered to reverse the charges, but he didn’t want to prolong the conversation. “Albert Lea is a city of about twenty thousand people, according to the map index. There’s an airport. If you decide you want to, you could get a couple of flights and wind up there. There’s almost sure to be a Holiday Inn. Get a room there, and I’ll check for you when I get to town.”

“In about six days.”

“Seven at the outside. It’s only about a hundred and seventy miles”

“Oh, hey, that’s nothing. And then what happens?”

“We’ll go for a walk.”

“To East Jesus, Kansas?”

“Probably to Charlottesville, Virginia.”

“My very next guess, I swear it. As a matter of fact, I was sitting next to the phone when it rang, and I said to myself, I’ll bet it’s old Guthrie, ready to invite me to walk from Staggerlee, Minnesota—’”

“Albert Lea.”

“‘—to Charlottesville, Virginia.’ But the thing is you’re serious, aren’t you? And you sound sober, that’s the funny part of it.”

He said, “Kit? Don’t try to figure it out. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Just see how it feels. If it feels right you’ll know, and you’ll handle the plane tickets and show up at the Holiday Inn. If there’s no Holiday Inn, hang around the post office or leave a note for me at the General Delivery window saying where you’re staying. If it doesn’t feel right, well, that’s cool.”

“What would I have to bring?”

“Comfortable shoes. We’ll buy anything you need. And don’t worry about money.”

“Albert Lea, Minnesota. Is it nice there? Oh, how would you know, you’re not there yet. Guthrie, if I actually go and you stand me up, I’ll kill you. I’ll find you, I’ll hunt you down, and I’ll kill you.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Just so you know what happens if you don’t. Then you can make an informed choice. Albert Lea, it sounds like a fucking good old boy. Joe Bob, Billie Clyde, Albert Lea. I’d have to be crazy to show up there.”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“But if I do,” she said, “you’d fucking well better be there.”

There were no new recruits that first day out of Pipestone. It was just as well, Guthrie thought; a day or two on their own would give them a chance to bond as a group before they had to deal with new people. That night they sat around the campfire and went around the circle, taking turns sharing how they felt being separated from the others. For some of them it brought up buried feelings about earlier periods of separation, but nothing came up that anybody had trouble handling.

The next day Sara said, “You know, I saw something when we were all breathing together at Pipestone. I saw other people walking. It’s hard to tell the past and present and future apart in the kind of vision I had, but I saw people walking all over the world. I saw walkers in Russia, heading south and west from Siberia. I saw people in South America walking down out of the Andes. I think they’ve already started out. I think there are walkers in England now, and in Norway and Sweden. I had a very strong sense of people walking in South Africa, and they were black and white all in one group, and they were walking down a highway and no one was bothering them.”

“And you think it’s already started.”

“I’m almost sure it has. We’re part of something enormous, Guthrie. And I think it’s going to work.”

“What has to happen? Does everyone have to walk?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I think when enough people are walking, the planetary consciousness will reach critical mass, and then everybody will just plain get it without walking. I think that’s what happens, but I don’t know for certain. And I don’t have a clue what the world will be like after everybody has what the walkers have. It’ll be whatever we make it, I suppose, and we’ll make it whatever we want it to be.”

“Whatever that is.”

“Yes.”

That afternoon a young man named Gregory abandoned a Honda scooter at the side of the road to walk with them. And the following morning a black couple named Alvin and Lily were waiting with their two daughters at an intersection less than a mile from where they’d made their camp. “This is crazy.” Alvin said, “but the last time I heard a voice loud and clear like this it told me the name of a horse, and I didn’t go and bet on him, and I been regretting that for the past seven years.”

That summed it up, Guthrie thought. You couldn’t take credit for much, because once your feet were on the path it was no great trick to keep them moving. And you couldn’t pride yourself on thinking up the idea, because something outside yourself put the thought in your mind.

But, if there was anything you could say for yourself, it might simply be that you had listened to the voice once it had spoken to you. Because that was the point where you were at choice. You could follow the lead or not. You could bet on the horse, or you could spend the next seven years regretting it.

He had been the instrument to deliver the message to Kit, but from here on it was her choice. She might be in Albert Lea. She might not.

Either way, he knew what to do. Just take it a step at a time, and remember to alternate feet.