The Songs of Summer

10. Chester Dugan

All resistance has crumbled now. I’m set up for life—Chester Dugan, ruler of the world. It’s not much of a world, true enough, but what the hell. It’s mine.

It’s amazing how all the grumbling has stopped. Even Kennon has given in—in fact, he’s become my most valuable man, since that time I had to belt him. It was too bad, I guess, to ruin such a nice nose, but I couldn’t have him walking off that way.

He’s going to lead the expedition to the north tomorrow, and he’s leaving Jarinne here. That’s good. Corilann is busy with her baby, and I think I need a little variety anyway. Good-looking kid Corilann had; takes after his old man. It’s amazing how everything is working out.

I hope to get electricity going soon, but I’m not too sure. The stream here is kind of weak, and maybe we’ll have to throw up a dam first. In fact, I’m sure of it. I’ll speak to Kennon about it before he leaves.

This business of rebuilding a civilization from scratch has its rewards. God, am I lean! I’ve lost all that roll of fat I was carrying around. I suppose part of the reason is that there’s no beer here, yet—but I’ll get to that soon enough. Everything in due time. First, I want to see what Kennon brings back from the north. I hope he doesn’t ruin anything by ripping it out. Wouldn’t it be nice to find a hydraulic press or a generator or stuff like that? And with my luck, we probably will.

Maybe we’ll do without religion a little while longer. I spoke to Dandrin about it, but he didn’t seem to go for the idea of being priest. I might just take over that job myself, once things get straightened out. I’d like to work out some sort of heating system before the winter gets here. I’ve figured out that we’re somewhere in New Jersey or Pennsylvania, and it’ll get pretty cold here unless things have changed. (Could the barbarian city to the north be New York? Sounds reasonable.)

It’s funny the way everyone lies down and says yes when I tell them to do something. These people have no guts, that’s their trouble. One good thing about civilization—you have to have guts to last. I’ll put guts in these people, all right. I’ll probably be remembered for centuries and centuries. Maybe they’ll think of me as a sort of messiah in the far future when everything’s blurred? Why not? I came to them out of the clouds, didn’t I? From heaven.

Messiah Dugan! Lawsy-me, if they could only see me now!

I still can’t get over the way everything is moving. It’s almost like a dream. By next spring we’ll have a respectable little city here, practically overnight. And we can hold a super-special Singing next summer and snaffle in the folk from all around.

Too bad about that kid Jubilain, by the way; he’s really gone off his nut. But I always thought he was a little way there anyway. Maybe I’ll teach them some of the old songs myself. It’ll help to make me popular here. Although, come to think of it, I’m pretty popular now. They’re all smiling at me all the time.