Alas, Babylon

Randy had been silent since Alice brought the news. Now he spoke, as if he had been holding silent debate with himself, and had finally reached a conclusion. `”They’ll have to live here.”

Helen set down her coffee cup. “Who’ll have to live here?” “We’ll have to ask Lib and Bill McGovern to stay with us.” “But we don’t have room! And how will we feed them?”

Randy was puzzled and disturbed. He had never thought of Helen as a selfish woman, and yet obviously she didn’t want the McGoverns. “We really have plenty of room,” he said. “There’s still an empty bedroom upstairs. Bill can have it, and Lib can sleep with you.”

“With me?”

He could see that Helen was angry. “Well, you have twin beds in your room, Helen. But if you seriously object, Bill can sleep in my apartment-there’s an extra couch-and Lib can have the room.”

“After all, it’s your house,” Helen said.

“As a matter of fact, Helen, the house is half Mark’s, which makes it half yours. So the decision is yours as well as mine. Lib and Bill have no water and no heat and not much food left because almost all their food reserve was in their freezer. They don’t even have a fireplace. They’ve been cooking and boiling water on a charcoal grill in the Florida room.”

Helen shrugged and said, “Well, I guess you’ll have to ask them. Elizabeth can sleep with me. But I hope it isn’t a permanent arrangement. After all, our food supply is limited.”

“It is limited,” Randy said, “and it’s going to get worse. Whether the McGoverns are here or not, we’re all going to have to scrounge for food pretty quick.”

Dan rose and said, “I’d better get going.”

Randy followed him. He had cultivated the habit of leaving his .45 automatic on the hall table and pocketing it as he left the house, as a man would put on his hat. Since he never wore a hat, and never before had carried a gun except in the Army, he still had to make a conscious effort to remember.

When they were in the car Randy said, “That was a strange way for Helen to behave. Don’t know what’s eating her.”

“Not at all strange,” Dan said. “Just human. She’s jealous.” “That’s ridiculous!”

“No. Helen is a fiercely protective woman-protective of her children. With Mark gone, you and the house are her security and the children’s security. She doesn’t want to share you and your protection. Matter of self-preservation, not infatuation.”

“I see,” Randy said, “or at least I think I see.”

They drove up to the front of the McGovern house. Randy said, “It’s pointless for both of us to go in. Nothing you can do here. While you get Bubba Offenhaus, I’ll tell them they’re going to move and get them going.”

“Right,” Dan said. “Economy of effort and forces. Always a good rule of war.”

Randy walked to the house, wondering a bit about himself. Without being conscious of it, he had begun to give orders in the past few days. Even to the Admiral he had given orders. He had assumed leadership in the tiny community bound together by the water pipes leading from the artesian well. Since no one had seemed to resent it, he guessed it had been the proper thing to do. It was like-well, it wasn’t the same, but it was something like commanding a platoon. When you had the responsibility you also had the right to command.

The McGovern house was damp and it was chilly. It retained the cold of night. Lib, wearing corduroy jodhpurs and a heavy blue turtleneck sweater, greeted him at the door. She said, “I heard the jalopy and I knew it was you. Thanks for coming, Randy.”

She held out her hands to him and he kissed her. Her hands felt cold and when he looked down at them he saw that her fingernails, always so carefully kept, were broken and crusted with dirt. Still she was dry-eyed and calm. Whatever tears she had had for her mother were already shed. Randy said, “Alice told us. We’re all terribly sorry, darling.” He knew it sounded insincere, and it was. With so many dead-so many friends for whom he had as yet not had time even for thought-the death of one woman, whom he did not admire overmuch and with whom he had never been and could not be close, was a triviality. With perhaps half the country’s population dead, death itself, unless it took someone close and dear, was trivial.

She said, “Come on in and talk to Dad. He’s worried about how we’re going to bury her.”

“We’re arranging that,” Randy said, and followed her into the house.

Bill McGovern sat in the living room, staring out on the river. He had not bothered to dress, or shave. Over his pajamas and robe he had pulled a topcoat. Randy turned to Lib. “Have either of you had any breakfast?”

She shook her head, no.

Bill spoke without turning his head. “Hello, Randy. I’m not much of a success, am I, in time of crisis? I can’t feed my daughter, or myself, or even bury my wife. I wish I had enough guts to swim out into the cha

“That can’t help Lavinia and wouldn’t help Elizabeth, or anybody. You and Lib are going to live with me. Things will be better.”

“Randy, I’m not going to impose myself on you. I might as well face it. I’m finished. You know, I’m over sixty. And do you know what the worst thing is> Central Tool and Plate. I spent my whole life building it up. What is it now? Chances are, just a mess of twisted and burned metal. Junk. So there goes my life and what good am I? I can’t start over. Central Tool and Plate is junk and I’m junk.”

Randy stepped over and stood between Bill and the cracked window, so as to look into his face. “You might as well stop feeling sorry for yourself,” he said. “You’re going to have to start over. Either that or die. You have to face it.”

Lib touched her father’s shoulder. “Come on, Dad.” Bill didn’t move, or reply.

Randy felt anger inside him. “You want to know what good you are? That means what good you are to somebody else, not to yourself, doesn’t it? If you’re no good to anybody else I guess you’d better take the long swim. You know something about machinery, don’t you?”

McGovern pushed himself in his chair. “I know as much about machine tools as any man in America.”

“I didn’t say machine tools. I said machinery. Batteries, gasoline engines, simple stuff like that.”

“I didn’t start at Central Tool as president, or board chairman. I started in the shop, working with my hands. Sure, I know about machinery.”

“That’s fine. You can help Malachai and Admiral Hazzard. We’ve taken the batteries out of my car, and the admiral’s car, and hooked them on to the Admiral’s shortwave set so we can find out what cooks around the world. Only it doesn’t work right something’s wrong with the circuit-and the batteries are fading and I don’t know how we can charge ‘em.”

“Very simple,” said Bill. “Power takeoff from the Model-A. It’ll work so long as you have gas.”

“Fine,” Randy said. “That’s your first job, Bill, helping Malachai.”

“Malachai? Isn’t he the brother of our cleaning woman, Missouri? Your yardman?”

“That’s him. First-class mechanic.”

Bill McGovern smiled. “So I’ll be mechanic, second class?” “That’s right.”

Bill rose. “All right. It’s a deal. I’ll dress, and then-” He stopped. “Oh, Lord, I forgot. Poor Lavinia. Randy, what am I going to do about her-” he hesitated as if the word were crude but he could find no other-”body?”

“We’re attending to that,” Randy said. “Dan Gu

Lib said, “A couple of gallons, I think.”

“That’ll be enough to make the move, and you won’t need the car after that. We can use the battery for Sam Hazzard’s shortwave set.”

While they packed, Randy prowled the house searching for useful items. In a kitchen cupboard he discovered an old, pitted iron pot of tremendous capacity, and, forgetting the presence of death in the house, whooped with delight.